


Seek and You Will Find

by y0rick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 04:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/y0rick/pseuds/y0rick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a task to complete before his final initiation into the Men and Women of Letters: retrieving feathers from a willing angel. There’s only one small problem. No one has reported seeing an angel in 2000 years. And then the strangest thing of all happens, an angel finds him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seek and You Will Find

**Author's Note:**

> My submission for the 2013 Dean/Castiel Big Bang Challenge.
> 
> Ten million thank yous to my wonderful, amazing betas, Caroline and Amy. Wow. They spent so much time with this work and I appreciate it so much. :)
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful people over at the DCBB LJ. They spend so much time organizing it and I appreciate all the work they put in.
> 
> And a HUGE thanks to my amazing artist Peri (look at more of her work at http://anobviousaside.tumblr.com/) who created better art than I could have asked for or imagined for this little story. Even if you don't read the fic, take a look at the amazing artwork! (It's at the beginning and the very end of the fic, go ahead and stare at it in awe. That's what i did!)
> 
> It was such an honor to participate in this challenge, and I hope you enjoy reading what I came up with!

 

  


**The prophet Habakkuk:**

_“How long, Lord, must I cry for help,_

_but you do not listen?_

_Or cry out to you ‘Violence!’_

_but you do not save?_

_Why do you make me look at injustice?_

_Why do you tolerate wrongdoing?”_

 

**The Lord’s Answer:**

_“Look at the nations and watch—_

_and be utterly amazed_

_For I am going to do something in your days_

_that you would not believe_

_even if you were told.”_

-Habakkuk 1: 2-3, 5 (ESV)

 

*****

 

_To the Elders of the Men and Women of Letters:_

_Firstly, let me just say that I don’t appreciate that you asked me to write this report right after I got home._

_I know that I can only start it by remembering when you assigned me a ridiculous task at the end of May as the last task before my initiation._

_It was a shitty thing to do. You had to know how excited I was to finally join the Men of Letters, but you had to go and ruin it._

_*******_

Dean knew before he even opened his eyes that The Big Day had finally arrived.

 

But that's probably just because he set “Eye of the Tiger” as his ringtone for this morning so that there was no way he could hit snooze even though it was the godforsaken time of 5:45am.

 

Sure enough, when he blinked the crust from his eyes and turned his head to one side, he saw a navy suit, fresh from the dry cleaners hanging from his closet door. His brown dress shoes were on the floor beside it, gleaming with fresh polish.

 

He grimaced at having to trudge through his day in that monkey suit, but he’d heard stories of people who’d worn jeans and t-shirts to the Council and had been given the shittiest tasks. That wasn’t something he would risk. He only had one month left to spend as an initiate. He wasn’t going to spend it shoveling unicorn shit.

 

On his classic car calendar, he’d crossed off every day up till this one. Charlie had circled today in a red sharpie and written “The Big One!” Picking up a pen from his desk, he x’ed off the final day, grinning. It was hard to believe he’d actually made it.

 

Dean knew that he wasn’t your typical trainee in the Men and Women of Letters. Hell, sometimes when his (slightly creepy) Grandfather Campbell suggested he learn hunting instead, it was almost tempting. Most of the members were happy with research and observation, but he needed to _do_ something with the knowledge he found. He had been reamed out by his superiors (dad and granddad included) for taking action instead of just watching.

 

He blamed his mom, in part. Being half-raised by a hunter who claimed she was in retirement gave you a certain edge that most of the bookish Men and Women of Letters didn’t and couldn’t have.  Mom had trained Sam a little too, but he didn’t really like it. She didn’t push him, except on what she called “survival skills,” which was a pretty loose category. Sam had pointed that out while she was making them draw Devil’s traps over and over again until they could do them from memory, blindfolded.

 

Devil’s traps and shotguns and sparring had always come to him more easily than the book knowledge of the Men and Women of Letters. He was book smart, but unlike his dad or granddad or Sam, he’d never been able to really sit still in school, never been content with books.

 

Still, becoming a fully initiated Man of Letters had been his goal ever since he could remember. He’d grown up on the stories of his father and grandfather’s initiations, of how his parents had met when his father had been assigned for his final task, to study the wendigo that civilians called “Bigfoot.” Spoiler: Mary Campbell had saved his sorry ass and then they’d made the huge discovery that it wasn’t a wendigo at all.

 

But that was their story.

 

Today, at twenty-six, Dean would start his, a moment that he’d been looking forward to and dreading his entire life. If he passed this final test, he’d have a lifetime to spend working in the noblest career he could imagine. He had no idea where the elders would assign him if he completed whatever insane task they assigned him. He might stay in Illinois and keep his civilian job as an elementary school teacher except now with jobs for the Men and Women of Letters on the side. Or they might send him far away, like they had with his grandfather. Henry Winchester still couldn’t tell Dean or Sam where’d he’d gone with John, only a kid at the time, those first few years after his initiation.

 

Dean didn’t really know what he wanted them to assign him.

 

He rolled out of bed and looked out the window over the street. His car, nearly hidden in the early morning shadows, was waiting for him, and on some days, he wanted to drive farther, just hit the road running to kick some evil ass and actually see this damn country. On other mornings though, he was more than content to struggle into dress clothes and once again find his desk cluttered with drawings and quizzes and progress reports and crafts at the school, to find ways of sneaking in protection sigils into his crafts lessons, because dammit if he was their teacher there was no way he wasn’t going to teach them how to protect themselves.  

 

Leaving for a great big mission would be perfect, and, really, there wasn’t all that much keeping him in Illinois. Sam was at Stanford during the year and even during the summers he was preoccupied with internships and his girlfriend. Their parents had returned to the road for the summer, and probably longer. His granddad had moved to Kansas to live out his retirement in peace.

 

The only ties Dean had to Illinois were his best friend, Charlie, who might be right beside him wherever the Elders placed them. He also had his civilian job here, but there were plenty of other schools that needed teachers.

 

He let the curtains fall. At least the choice wasn’t up to him.

 

He was expected at the Elders Council by 8am.

 

Normally, he’d need to be at the elementary school by 7 am anyway to get ready for his class, so he was used to stumbling around at the crack of dawn. But since summer had come he’d become lazy again, sleeping in, trading his dress slacks and ties for his much-preferred jeans and plaid button-downs. It hadn’t helped that he’d been so _ready_ for summer this year, crossing off the days on his calendar to the end of school and then to _today._

 

With the council ahead of him, time flew. By the time he had taken a quick shower, shaved, and dressed it was already 7:15. He grabbed his coffee and breakfast and was on his way into downtown Normal, IL.

 

The HQ for the Men and Women of Letters was located beneath a series of little shops: a music store, a bookshop, and a bakery. All three had stairs in the back that led down into the endless hallways, libraries, classrooms, and offices that the Men and Women of Letters used on a daily basis.

 

Dean took his customary spot in a lot behind Chambers Music Store, owned by Lee Chambers, a Man of Letters, whose daughter, Krissy, was one of Dean’s first graders.

 

The store wouldn’t open for another couple hours, but the lights were on. The Chambers were already be in,  ready to usher Dean and Charlie as Dean and his best friend through his store to head to the Elders’ chambers.

 

Sure enough, both Chambers welcomed him in, and Krissy even gave him a tight hug and then, once Dean leaned over, gave him a sturdy punch on his shoulder “for good luck.”

 

Dean made his way down the winding metal stairs with their well wishes and laughter ringing in his ears, but his stomach was still knotted with anxiety. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to find more text messages from his parents and grandparents with their words of advice and congratulations. And, of course, there was a message with a demanding “call me as soon as you find out your task” from Sam.

 

His little brother had almost turned down the offer of an internship with the prestigious Lazarus Law Firm because he’d so wanted to stay with Dean and offer his help with his final task. As he wasn’t a Man of Letters himself yet, it was perfectly within the rules for Dean to have him around as a “resource.” Dean had pushed his little brother to accept the internship because it was perfect for him. The Lazarus Firm had been established by the Men and Women of Letters to defend victims of supernatural encounters, such as demonic possession, as well as hunters who had committed minor crimes (such as grave desecrations) on the job.

 

But Sam would still have been pissed if Dean didn't let him help. This reminder of family…support… was comforting enough that finally Dean’s mind quieted as he stood just outside the entrance to the Men and Women of Letters Headquarters, with the familiar Aquarian star branded into the door. He knocked out the secret rhythm, and the door swung open unaided.

 

He strode down the long hallway to the shallow alcove just before the Elders chambers and sat down on a little padded bench beneath a stained glass window. Dean was almost a fully-fledged member of the Men and Women of Letters and he still didn’t know how the Elders had managed to create the illusion of a true sky just outside the window when they were far below ground.

 

Charlie wasn’t there yet, predictably. He tried to settle on the bench and found the calm he needed to send a few replies to his family (mostly thanks and one “bitch,” reserved for his brother).

 

Charlie finally came scurrying in, coffee cup in hand (and _oh shit_ , Dean realized he would be responsible for listening to her with coffee in her veins) with only two minutes to go.

 

“Have they called you in yet?” she gasped.

 

“No, no, you made it.” He gestured to the frighteningly accurate clock on the wall; how many times had he wished it ran slower? “Just barely, but you got here. I’m just glad I didn’t have to sit here alone the whole time.”

 

“How long have you been here?”

 

“Only about five minutes.”

 

“Good,” she said, finally dropping beside him on the bench, “I couldn’t sleep last night and I couldn’t eat this morning.”

 

“Yeah, I brought a bagel to eat,” Dean said, holding it up, “But I don’t think I’m gonna be able to eat it. Let’s just go get breakfast after this.”

 

“But we can’t talk about our assignments with each other,” Charlie said, eyes wide as she gulped down more coffee.

 

It was a change from how they normally worked. For every other assignment given to Dean, he and Charlie, were fully expected to work together, as they were at the same level of knowledge. For this final task, they were on their own. He and Charlie had privately decided that the reason they weren’t allowed to work together was because the Elders couldn’t come up with an assignment that wouldn’t be too easy for the pair of them.

 

“No, but we can eat together,” Dean said, and Charlie nodded.

 

The next moment, the door to the Elders Chamber swung open, and Elder Ganem was at the door.

 

“Mr. Winchester, please come in.”

 

Dean stood and flashed Charlie a big, confident grin.

 

“Go get ‘em,” she murmured, and gave him a little fist bump.

 

He followed Ganem into the chamber, and the door shut itself behind him.

 

Though he’d been in the Elders Chambers many times before, they never failed to make him feel small and insignificant.

 

The high ceilings towered over him, laden with images of centuries of bravery and sacrifice. Thousands of years of history portrayed so elegantly. The heavy royal blue curtains on the walls were nothing like the checkered drapes in the offices or the library. The rows and rows of spindly candles kept continually burning without ever losing wax were familiar enough, but the large checkered marble square in the center of the room, was too extravagant to be anything but alien. The Elders were seated at a long, high table, putting them on a literal level above him.

 

Dean swallowed as he came forward to stand in front of them, under their unyielding scrutiny.

 

Elder Josie Sands was seated in the middle of the table, with three others on either side of her. They all wore their burgundy robes with the Aquarian star patch embroidered to one side. No member of the Men and Women of Letters actually _liked_ these robes, but they respected tradition enough to wear them on special occasions. Dean nearly choked on the reminder that this day was a special occasion, for everyone in the Society, not just he and Charlie.

 

If they passed their final tests, they would be awarded itchy, uncomfortable robes of their own.

 

He straightened the Aquarian star pin on his tie.

 

“Good morning, Mr. Winchester,” It was Elder Sands who spoke, and Dean was distantly surprised that she was permitted to lead this meeting as her bias was unmistakable. She and Dean’s grandfather had worked together as he and Charlie had, and Sands had even been a pseudo-aunt to he and Sam.

 

“How are you this morning?” she asked.

 

“Good morning, Elder Sands, and I’m just a little queasy.”

 

The Elders all chuckled a little and Dean joined in. He thought it was probably easier for them since they had been Elders for decades and could only distantly remember the terror he was feeling now.

 

Now Elder Ganem spoke up again, more solemn than the rest of the Elders.

 

“Dean Winchester are you committed to undertaking one final task for the Men and Women of Letters, upon the completion of which you will be given our most sacred secrets?”

 

“Yes, I am committed,” he said. If his voice shook, he was so not telling Sam.

 

Dean wished his grandfather or father was allowed in the room because now came the part he’d been dreading and dreaming of. At least Elder Sands took over from there.  

 

“Very well,” Elder Sands voice somehow managed to be authoritative and sweet, “For your final task, you are to procure angel feathers given to you personally by a willing angel.”

 

Dean’s brain screeched to a stop. Angel feathers? Really? That simple? Or maybe not. In many spells, Men and Women of Letters used “angel feathers” but that was slang for the feathers of a creature, whose name was so ridiculous and long-winded that Dean couldn’t even remember it. From the way Sands had worded it, it sounded as though…but that was impossible.

 

“Ma’am, you don’t mean an _actual_ angel, do you?” They couldn’t have, Dean knew, because everyone knew that even _if_ angels _ever_ existed, no one had written of realistic encounters with them for over two thousand years.  

 

“No, Mr. Winchester,” Josie Sands spoke again, her voice unnervingly placating, “We do not mean the _simple_ herb that you can buy from any common herbalist. A living angel must give you a few of their physical feathers. Do you still accept? If you do, remember that you must do your work without the help of any of the other members of the Men and Women of Letters, though the library and database are accessible to you, as well as any outside contacts.”

 

“Yes, ma’am, I accept.” His acceptance was instinctual, “Thank you all for your time,” he enunciated carefully and then exited the room before he could do anything rash, like beg for an explanation or try to overturn their long table.

 

 _An angel_. A damn _angel_. If they had asked for any other creature in the five thousand page bestiary (or any of the hundreds more logged in the new database) he could have found one of them, or, barring that, a _piece_ of one of them somewhere. But no one, not even the hunters on his mother’s side, had anything to say about angels, aside from reciting Biblical accounts.

 

Charlie was waiting for him when he got out. He collapsed back onto the bench, already mentally running through the account of the annunciation, one of the accounts of the so-called angel Gabriel.

 

Charlie took one look at his face and—

 

“Oh god, what did they say?”

 

He didn’t even have the chance to open his mouth before an elder called Charlie’s name. She swallowed nervously.

 

“You better wait right out here for me, mister,” she whispered as she crossed the room.

 

Dean watched her pause before the closed door, adjust her skirt, square her shoulders, and put on one of her killer grins. The door swung shut behind her, and Dean let his face fall into his hands.

 

He knew Charlie well enough to know that there would be hell to pay if he didn’t wait. More importantly, he knew that she would be able to actually listen, so despite how very much he wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, he stuck around.

 

Anger was quickly overtaking his surprise. Why would they give him an impossible task when they knew how hard he’d worked, how committed he was? Clearly, they thought he shouldn’t be a Man of Letters and didn’t have the balls to say it to his face.

 

By the time Charlie re-emerged, he’d worked himself into a fury. Before she could say a word, he’d taken her arm and led her out.

 

“I need more coffee,” Dean told her.

 

Charlie was the kind of good friend who waited until they were seated in the Starbucks before leaning forward and raising her eyebrows in that sign for _spill it now_.

 

“They want me to find an _angel_ ,” Dean spat out, fingers tightening convulsively around his black coffee, “It’s impossible and they damn well know it.”

 

“Wait, wait, not like an actual angel,” Charlie said, and Dean felt his righteous anger flare again.

 

“No, that’s what I said to them. They fuckin’ specified.”

 

Charlie was openly gaping now, ignoring how crumbs were falling from her huge blueberry muffin.

 

“They want me to find a real angel and get some of its feathers.”

 

“That’s…” Charlie was struggling for words, and Dean was about to jump in with a few well-placed ones that he thought perfectly summed up the situation when she spoke again, “Actually kinda smart. If anybody could find an angel after two thousand years, it would be a Winchester.”

 

“Yeah, maybe my granddad or dad could,” Dean said. “But that’s cause they’re damn smart with years of experience. And Sam probably could too, he’s too much of a genius for his own good. But _me_? And it’s been _two thousand years_ , Charlie…I just…I think that they want me to fail.”

 

The words were more than he wanted to let slip, even to Charlie, but she just nodded and took another sip of her (decaf, Dean had begged) coffee.

 

“Dean,” Charlie said finally, and from her tone of voice, Dean knew that she was about to say something sappy, in her own way, “Winchesters make the impossible normal. Hell, you include demon protection sigils in your students’ arts and crafts, in _civilian_ life. That’s something no other hunter has ever done before, and that’s not mentioning some of the other crazy stuff you’ve pulled, like the anti-possession tattoos you and Sam thought up, or using rock salt in a shotgun. Trust me, the elders want more of your crazy shit. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

 

Her faith was encouraging, but it didn’t solve any of his problems, and Dean was still pretty sure that for all his “creativity” he was still a major pain in the ass because most of his plans hadn’t been thought through.

 

There were the parents that had thought something was suspicious about the crafts he was having their kids make, so suspicious that the principal, a Woman of Letters herself, had been forced to step in and nearly blow their cover.

 

And how could he forget the rock salt rounds. He’d gone into a haunting with his new salt rounds without any back-up, and been chewed out by _everyone_ including his own little brother and Charlie before they’d realized that it was because he’d made something new and useful, then he’d been lectured again over testing it out alone.

 

Then there was the time that he’d forged his parents’ signatures at sixteen in order to get his newly invented anti-possession tattoo, and then had the bright idea to _test it_. He’d disappeared from home for two days, and while he hadn’t even officially started training yet then, his dad and granddad had recruited Men and Women of Letters to help look for him.

 

He’d been a thorn in their side before he’d even been a Level One.  Yeah, Charlie…she may have had a point about his usefulness, but the elders probably didn’t see it that way.

 

Something in his face must have shown that stubbornness because Charlie put on a big smile and switched topics.

 

“Well, don’t you wanna know what they asked me to do?”

 

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he said, suddenly realizing that they had spent all that time discussing his problem.

 

For all his own moping, he knew that if anyone really deserved a shot at final initiation it was Charlie. She had been so afraid when she’d first discovered the supernatural world (by somehow finding and hacking into the Letters online database), but her courage to help in whatever way she was able and her kickass pop culture references were the reasons they became friends in the first place.

 

“I have to get into the Fay court and observe a trial,” Charlie said. Then, her grin turning into a leer, “That means hot fairies.”

 

“Damn. Charlie, you have all the luck.”

 

****

 

Dean called Sam as soon as he and Charlie went their separate ways, she, back to headquarters to raid the library, and he headed back to his apartment to find comfort in more breakfast.

 

"What’s the task? What do the Elders want?" Sam said immediately, words spilling out in his eagerness.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, and he couldn't even smile, "They want me to get some angel feathers."

"Well, that's easier than I was expecting. You called Missouri yet? I know she has—”

 

"No, not like the herb people call angel feathers. Damn that makes this more confusing. I have to get an angel to give me some of their feathers.”

Dean could almost hear his brother’s brain halt on this new info. Does not compute.

"There has to be some mistake," Sam began loyally because he still believed that the Elders were saints, "I mean, no one has seen angels in 2000 years. Are you sure—”

"Yeah, I'm sure that the Elders just want a good reason to keep me from my final initiation,” Dean didn’t want to burden Sam with all his shit, but he had to shut him up somehow, “I mean, they were always kind of weird about Mom being a hunter.  They'll make an exception for you, brainiac, but me..."

He laughed into the phone. Sam didn't.

"Dean, what are you going to do?"

As always, his brother cut right to the heart of the matter. Unlike Charlie, Sam didn’t bother trying to soothe. Dean knew what Sam thought of him anyhow.

 

It wasn't a question Dean had had time to consider what with all his anger at the injustice of it all. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he wanted to watch their smug faces fall when he came back with a handful of actual angel feathers.

 

“I’m gonna get some damn feathers.”

 

“I can come home and help,” Sam offered immediately, and Dean knew Sam would if he asked him to. Sam would just hop in his crappy car and drive all the way back home from Palo Alto. But he couldn’t ask that of him.

 

“Don’t you have your internship?”

 

“…yes.”

 

Dean laughed again, “Say hi to Jess for me, ok?” It was a cue to Sam that their conversation that his sharing time was reaching its end.

 

“Wait, Dean,” Sam interrupted, “Where are you gonna start?”

 

Dean didn’t have an answer yet, seeing as he’d only just decided to actually try and complete this mission. He heard Sam take a breath.

 

“You should go talk to Bobby,” he suggested.

 

Bobby Singer was one of his mom’s favorite hunter contacts with an odd library of his own. His personal specialty was in in summoning and demonology. The Men and Women of Letters had been trying to bring him into the fold for years, but Bobby had no interest in leaving his junkyard and hunter friends for a “pansy-ass life of bookkeeping.”

 

Fortunately, his contempt for the Winchester line of work didn’t extend to anyone related to Mary Campbell (he refused to call her Mary Winchester), and Dean knew that he could probably get his help.

 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said, getting out his keys again as he reached the Impala.

 

“Look, when I’m done for the day, I’ll see what I can find,” he offered.

 

“That’d be great,” the sun was brighter than Dean wanted it to be, but it left his car gleaming, “Listen, I gotta go now, but I’ll call Bobby later today and let you know what he says.”

 

“Yeah, you better.”

 

When he arrived back at his apartment, he changed into his jeans and his faded Zeppelin shirt. He was still hungry so he made waffles while he thought through his plans.

 

He spent the morning with _Zeppelin IV_ blaring in the background while he filled pages and pages on a legal pad with everything he could think of in the way of leads. He looked up all the Biblical angel references, including all the ones in Daniel and Ezekiel that were scary as hell. Multiple pairs of wings, the heads of different animals, and that one terrifying “creature” covered in eyes in Ezekiel 1.

 

There were more forgotten angels too, beside the bizarre ones and the famous ones like Michael, Lucifer, and Gabriel. Dean had forgotten all about the angel in Zechariah who cried out to God for mercy for humanity. If he had to meet any angel, Dean hoped that would be the one.

 

He figured he could forgo scouring the Letters’ Library, as he’d spent enough time shelving and re-shelving every one of the thousands of books (notably for weeks after the tattoo incident) to know that there was nothing helpful there.

 

It was some time in the late afternoon, and Dean had switched from _Zeppelin IV_ to _Physical Graffiti_ to The Allman Brothers Band, when his apartment came under attack.

 

The windows began to shake, the light bulb in the overhead light burst, and a deafening, high-pitched keening sound flooded the room with increasing volume. His music was suddenly buzzing static. Dean fell to his knees. His ears ached without relief at the screeching. It was good that he’d fallen, because the table now shielded him when his wide windows burst. Dean was starting to worry that his eardrums would burst too, when at last, without warning, it stopped.

 

Dean staggered to his feet after a long moment and cautiously straightened. His eyes went immediately to the dozens of protection sigils on his door, and on the wood paneling beneath his window. They were completely untouched.

 

When he leaned out of his window and craned his head to get a glimpse of his neighbor’s windows, he saw they were completely intact.

 

Dammit, what creature had he somehow pissed off now?

 

It took some time cleaning up, taping tarp over the open frames, sweeping up all the glass (he was just glad he’d already been wearing shoes), and placing more protective sigils on the door. In the morning, he’d give _someone_ a call and figure out what was after him, ( _elemental, spirit, demon even?_ ), but for the time being he was just trying to stay alive, and keep the bugs out.

 

By the time he had finished, night had fallen, and a storm was coming in quickly. The wind was already beating at his tarps, and thunder roared.

 

Dean had given up on research for the night, planning instead to hold out in his bedroom, when the light bulb he’d just replaced started shooting sparks. Dean grabbed his shotgun out of the closet.

 

“Seriously? Come on. I just cleaned.” he cocked the gun,” Can’t you wait to kill me till tomorrow?”

 

The wind picked up speed, right before the door burst open and slammed against the opposite wall.

 

“Oh, shit.”

 

He aimed his gun at the doorway, even though he knew it would probably be completely useless. None of his other weapons were in reach. His granddad (hell, his mom too) would have had his ass if they had known he was so unprepared.

 

But the doorway remained empty except for the night filling every edge.

 

“Show yourself!”

 

A crack of thunder answered him. Then there was a luminescent figure in his doorway, shorter than him, but with a straighter back. When his light bulb sparked again, Dean caught a glimpse of dark, mussed hair and blue eyes. Whatever it was _looked_ human at least, but Dean was well aware that often those were the most dangerous of monsters. The figure was dressed in a casual suit and ragged kaki trench coat, but the way that he held himself was stiff and formal.

 

“What are you? And what do you want with me?” Dean raised his shotgun.

 

“My name is Castiel, and I’m an angel of the Lord,” he was smiling as he said it, his voice was low, and strained, every word a visible effort.  

 

“Uh huh,” Dean said, feeling his stomach swoop; he lowered his shotgun, mostly so that he could gesture with one hand, “Very funny. Who put you up to this? Was it Elder Sands? Was it my granddad, Elder Henry Winchester? Or maybe my dad, the other Elder Winchester?”

 

‘Castiel’ or whatever tilted his head to one side.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

“It was all a big joke, wasn’t it?” Dean sneered, “And the Elders couldn’t even afford wings and a halo?”

 

The thunder cracked again, and Castiel’s face lost any semblance of friendliness.

 

“I mean, I knew they didn’t like me, but this is a low blow, giving me a _fake_ assignment?”

 

Castiel came further into the room.

 

“You are the only person I have ever had need to know of the Men and Women of Letters, Dean Winchester. And I am not a _fake_.”

 

The lightning cracked again and as it flashed, Dean could see the outline of huge wings, as shadows on the wall behind Castiel.

 

Dean snorted.

 

“Seriously, that’s the best they could do? A little magic trick like that?”

 

Castiel reared backwards.

 

“I have no time for inane conversation. I only have need of that.”

 

It took Dean a moment to realize that the angel was pointing at the amulet resting on his chest, the one that Sam had given him for protection years earlier.

 

“No way, bud. Why would I give this amulet to you?”

 

“It is _vital_ that you give it to me. I need it to complete my mission.”

 

“Angels have missions?”

 

Castiel stepped over to Dean’s little kitchen table and carefully turned one of the fragile pages in the Bible Dean had been using. He touched so gingerly, so wary of his own strength; it reminded Dean of when Sam had had his last growth spurt and had spent his summer ducking more than he needed too, wary of his own height.

 

“If you’ve read this book,” Castiel said, “You’d know that angels are warriors, soldiers. All soldiers have missions.”

 

“Look, I don’t even think you are an angel. If you are, where the hell have you all been?” Dean asked, scathing.

 

“I am the first angel to visit the earth in two thousand years.”

“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock. Why now?”

 

Castiel looked down, “I am not at liberty to say.”

 

If this guy was a fake, he sure was committed to the role, but Dean didn’t believe in coincidence. Either the Elders had sent this guy just to mess with him, or they’d given him the task because they knew an angel was coming. Either way, Dean had to know for sure.

 

“Angels are powerful, right? So do something that only an angel could do, and I’ll believe you.”

 

Castiel’s lips twitched upwards and then with a slight rustling of feathers he wasn’t there, with no indication that he’d _ever_ been there. Teleportation, holy _teleportation_. Demons could appear out of thin air if summoned. Ghosts would flicker, turn invisible and then reappear, but nothing could do what Castiel had just done. Every hunter who was worth his salt knew that there was no creature capable of pure teleportation.  Disappearing and reappearing without flickering or summoning or mist was impossible.

 

And then, Castiel was there again, this time a step further to the left, with no more noise than that quiet rush of feathers.

 

“Uh, wow,” Dean tried. He took a deep breath and tried again, “I wasn’t expecting that, but that doesn’t mean that I’m giving you my amulet, just like that.”

 

“Did I not make it clear that I’m an _angel_ of the Lord? You should show me some respect,” he stepped closer, and Dean instinctively angled away from him, one hand around the amulet, “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

 

Dean had no way of knowing whether or not that was an idle threat, but he couldn’t let an opportunity like this go to waste.

 

“And my brother gave me my amulet, for protection. I’m not just gonna give it up to the first angel that comes along, but maybe we can reach…an agreement.”

  
“I’m not a demon. I don’t make deals,” he looked so utterly annoyed that Dean had to stifle a little laugh.

 

“No, not my damn soul or anything, just…I let you _borrow_ the amulet, and, in return, you give me a few of your feathers.”

 

“Your soul is not damned,” Castiel told him, still reaching for the amulet.

 

Dean pulled farther away and raised one eyebrow.

 

“Fine,” Castiel sighed, holding one hand out.

 

“Whoa, whoa, I’m not that easy. You gotta prove you have actual feathers, and not just shadows, and I’m going to need to come with you until you’re done, just to make sure I’ll get my amulet back.”

 

“Angels don’t lie.”

 

“I get that, but humans do, so it’s hard for me to trust anybody,” Dean said, and Castiel still looked annoyed, but Dean was looking at that crease in Castiel’s forehead when he was struck by how odd he looked. On first glance, an ordinary human, with his suit and coat, but even from his stance anyone could see how uncomfortable he was in his own body, “Wait…are you possessing some poor bastard?”

 

“He’s a devout man; he actually prayed for this,” Castiel said, actually smiling for the first time.

 

“That’s not the point.” Dean knew that angels could take human form, like when they ate with Abraham, but he hadn’t imagined that they took people as demons did, “You can’t just—never mind…you want the amulet, this is the deal you get.”

 

“It would be inconvenient to take you with me; much more time-consuming,” Castiel stated.

 

“Tough. That’s the only way I’m giving you the amulet.”

 

“What’s stopping me from just taking it from you?”

 

But Dean stood taller, “If you were gonna hurt me, you already would have.”

 

Castiel’s jaw tightened. The next moment, the air—reality itself—rippled and wings sprouted into existence. They were long, stretching from one end of Dean’s small living room to the other, and at full height, some of the top feathers brushed the ceiling. At first, Dean believed them to be a dull black, but as they moved, Dean saw that they were truly a glimmering iridescent, shining with dozens of hidden colors, only truly revealed as they shifted while Castiel rolled his shoulders.

 

“Huh, those are pretty impressive, but I can see why you’d keep ‘em hidden,” Dean said, as Castiel folded his wings against his back.

 

“For some reason, they are…distressing to other humans and they are cumbersome in human space.”

 

“Well, they aren’t something humans are used to seeing,” Dean said and Castiel rolled his shoulders, wings winking out of sight again, “So I assume you’re accepting?”

 

“You’ve given me very little choice.”

Dean grinned, “Good.” he walked over to switch on a lamp; for whatever reason, it worked perfectly even though his overhead light was completely burnt out, “Now, where is it that we’re going?”

 

“It would’ve taken me a lot less time if you hadn’t insisted on coming,” Castiel said, “I would’ve been done with your amulet in a few days. Human transport and comfort makes everything take so much longer.”

 

“I know, we’re super inconvenient,” Dean said, “And I’m about to be even more annoying. You haven’t told me what you need the amulet for yet or _where_ we’re going.”

 

“I am not permitted to tell you,” Castiel said stiffly, but Dean watched his eyes flick away and back, so Dean pressed on.

 

“It’s my amulet, I think I deserve to know.”

 

“It would put you and your family in danger,” Castiel said, finally meeting his eyes again.

 

The storm outside raged on. Dean figured that the angel believed that would be a good enough reason for him, but clearly he hadn’t met a Winchester before.

 

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather know what the danger was, Castiel, instead of it just hanging over all our heads. It doesn’t do us any good if we’re in the dark,” he turned to look him in the eye briefly.

 

Castiel said nothing for several long moments, and Dean was convinced that he would not give him a straight answer, but then, finally:

 

“It will help me find God.”

 

“…what?” For whatever reason, Dean hadn’t thought through the ‘angels are actually like really real’ situation thoroughly enough to get to God. Hearing his existence referenced so casually sounded like the opening to a bad joke. “Isn’t He supposed to be up in heaven with you angels?”

 

“Yes, He’s _supposed_ to be, but he’s not. I was sent to earth because it is believed by my superiors that He is somewhere down here.”

 

“Why would He choose to stay down here, and what the hell has He been doing with all the shit going on?”

“That is not my concern,” Castiel said, “My job is to find Him, not judge Him.”

 

“Yeah, I guess that’s more of a human _concern_ ,” Dean spat. His sudden hostility was a surprise even to him. Castiel did not flinch from it, but stood straighter, chin jutting out.

 

“Who are _you_ to question Him?”

 

Dean turned away. Angels couldn’t, maybe _wouldn’t_ understand the sufferings of people, and certainly never in so intimate a way as Dean did, as the son of a hunter.

 

“Whatever,” Dean said, “So how does this amulet even work with finding God?”

 

“If I’m wearing it and we are near God, it will burn enough for me to know,” Castiel said.

 

“Well, that’s not cryptic at all,” when Castiel squinted, Dean rushed on, “What I mean is, do you even have any idea where to _start_?”

 

“No,” Castiel responded simply.

 

“Well, I appreciate your honesty,” Dean scratched at the back of his neck, realizing that he may have gotten into more than he could handle.

 

There was always the option of just _giving_ Castiel the amulet, getting a few of those shimmering feathers in return, and Dean going his merry way while Castiel continued his “mission.” If he did that, he could end his own mission less than a full day since the Elders had assigned it. That would probably be a new record for any Man of Letters.

 

But…

 

That would mean leaving Castiel to wander earth alone, searching desperately for a God, who probably didn’t care with a talisman that Castiel couldn’t even be sure actually worked. Dean wasn’t going to leave anyone—especially not an angel who seemed so clueless—to do such a thankless, desperate mission alone.

 

“Alright, I may know someone who can help us,” Dean said, “Well, _two_ someones, if you don’t mind working with a hunter.”

 

“Your brother Sam being the first?” Castiel asked.

 

“Yeah, wait…how do you know Sam?”

 

“Heaven keeps an eye on the Winchesters,” Castiel said, and Dean’s heart began to beat fast; the idea of anyone _watching_ his family made him uneasy, even so-called angels, “You and your family are important. How did you think I knew about _you_?”

 

Dean swallowed.

 

“That’s pretty creepy,” he shook himself, putting thoughts of his family’s safety away for the moment, “Look, it doesn’t matter right now. Our hunter friend, Bobby Singer might be able to help us with this, at least to help us narrow the search. It’s an eight-hour drive from here to his house in Sioux Falls. He was already expecting me cause I thought I’d need  help with angel stuff, so why don’t we start there?”

 

Castiel nodded, “I suppose that would be wise. I will transport us there now,” he reached out towards Dean’s forehead with two fingers outstretched.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, “Hold up, let’s take my car. I’m not gonna just leave it here for however long it takes to find your dad.”

 

 

***

 

For whatever reason, while Castiel had seemed vaguely uncomfortable in Dean’s apartment, he was perfectly at home in the Impala. He sat very still in the shotgun seat and stared out the window as though the boring town of Normal, IL was completely fascinating. Well, Dean considered, maybe for an angel who had been trapped in Paradise for thousands of years, the utter mundaneness of small-town Illinois was a treat.

 

He also evidently found no need to speak. Dean cleared his throat.

 

“I better call my brother, he’s gonna want to know about this.”

 

Castiel watched him curiously as Dean fumbled with the phone. Thankfully, Sam picked up on the first ring.

 

“Well, Sammy,” Dean said in lieu of an actual “hello” because he knew that Sam would be furious if he doesn’t tell him immediately, “I found an angel.”

 

“What?” Sam’s voice squeaked like it hadn’t since middle school, louder than it probably should be. It was enough to bring a smile to Dean’s face.

“Technically,” Castiel said from beside him, and Dean held the phone so that Sam could catch Castiel’s response, “I found _you_.”

 

“What?” Sam gasped again, “How did? So quickly?”

 

He was doing that thing where he worked himself into such a logical crisis that he couldn’t even manage complete sentences.

 

“Like, he said, he found me,” Dean explained, cutting Sam off as he pulled the phone back to his ear, “It’s all kinda complicated, but we have a deal going, so if I help him out with something, he’ll give me a few feathers. I just wanted to let you know.”

 

“Wait, Dean, a _deal_ —”

 

Ever since he’d seen Dean researching demon deals when they were kids, Sam had felt the need to remind his brother about the dangers at every available opportunity for lecturing. It was still a sore spot for both of them, especially as Dean had never really explained why he’d been looking them up in the first place.

 

“Not that kind of deal, no need to panic. Just an honest negotiation. No souls for sale here.”

 

“Good,” and that sigh of relief in Sam’s voice just stirred up guilt in Dean’s gut; why did it seem that he was always making his kid brother worry about him? Sam had moved on, though. “What does he need your help with?”

 

He cast a glance over at Castiel, who shook his head, and Dean grinned.

 

“That amulet you gave me for Christmas when we were kids? Apparently it’s a God compass or something. He needs to use it to help him find God. That’s the mission he was given, to go alone and find God. He’s hiding out here on earth for some damn reason.”

 

Unsurprisingly, there was silence from the other end of the line, and Dean was caught between two supremely awkward moments: the glare that Castiel sent his way, and Sam’s stunned surprise. Dean wasn’t too bothered, though. He didn’t get to shock his brother nearly often enough, and irritating Castiel was even more fun.

 

He shrugged and sent another lopsided grin at Castiel, who stiffly shook his head, frown deeper.

 

“Anyway, we’re on the way to see Bobby. I figure he can probably help out somehow.”

 

“Wow, uh, wow,” Sam said, as though Dean’s decision to speak again had reminded him suddenly that they were still having a conversation, “Not that I don’t want to meet this angel or anything, but couldn’t you just _give_ him the amulet? You know I won’t care.”

 

Dean swallowed, “Yeah, I know you won’t care, but _I’d_ care, Sam. Chicks dig it.”

 

Sam laughed too quick, and Dean knew that his brother had listened, heard Dean describe Castiel as _alone_ and put the pieces together. In Sam’s words, Dean liked taking care of strays, but Dean knew that the situation was different now. After all, they both had something to gain from working to gether.

 

“Yeah, sure…so…what’s he like?” Sam asked

 

A quick glance at Castiel proved that he had heard Sam’s eager question, too. Castiel was watching him carefully. It was the first time since they’d met that Castiel’s eyes had been entirely friendly and curious.

 

“His name is Castiel, and he has phenomenally good hearing.”

 

“Of course he does,” Dean heard the flush of embarrassment in his voice, “Look, I’ll do some research of my own. You called Bobby yet to tell him you’re on your way?”

 

“No. It’d better to unless I want him to fill Castiel and me full of iron when we get there.”

 

“Give me a call later, ok?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Bye.”

 

He didn’t even bother flipping his phone shut after hanging up, just pulled up Bobby’s number and left him a voicemail.  

 

Dean drove for four hours straight before Dean finally stopped. Four hours wasn’t too difficult, as long road trips were a Winchester tradition, and John Winchester had never been too gracious about potty breaks for he and Sam.

 

Still, when he spotted the arches of a McDonald’s looming in the distance, he felt more than a little relieved.

 

“Why are we stopping?”

 

“I’m human, dude, I gotta take care of some stuff.”

 

Castiel squinted, suspicious, as though Dean was stopping just to irritate him, “What stuff?”

 

“I gotta pee and I have to get something to eat,” Dean explained, pulling into to a parking spot, “I’m guessing angels don’t need to eat, even when in the body of a tax accountant.”

 

“My vessel sells ad space for the radio,” Castiel said, “He hates doing his taxes.”

 

“Well, do you want to see what a McDonald’s looks like?” Dean said, “And we can stretch our legs a little.”

 

Castiel just stared at him, so Dean hauled himself out of the car, wincing at the ache from sitting for four hours. He stood, stretching out with a groan. He smiled when he heard the passenger door creak open and slam shut.

 

He turned around long enough to lock the Impala, then started to stroll towards the McDonald’s. He said nothing, and he was happy to hear Castiel’s dress shoes clicking on the pavement behind him.

 

The line was pretty long, so Dean found the bathroom first. He left Castiel looking around at the patrons with open curiosity. Knowing he was an angel, Dean thought that Castiel stood out like a sore thumb, but the other patrons obviously didn’t notice. He didn’t respond when others brushed against him, just standing statue still. Dean got back in line, tugging Cas with him. Whey they got up to the counter, Castiel just squinted, staring into the bright lights from the overhead menu, while Dean ordered. Dean ordered a burger, fries, and a McFlurry for himself and fries for Castiel, because seriously, who _didn’t_ like fries.

 

The cashier was not as clueless as everyone else. She peered over her glasses at Castiel, looking him up and down.

 

“Is he ok?” she asked Dean. Her nametag read “Danielle,” like the girl version of that prophet who saw the “creatures.” Dean hated coincidences.

 

He and Castiel ended up in a pastel booth in corner, Dean facing the rest of the restaurant. His training with the Men and Women of Letters had taught him that there was little to be feared in such public places like McDonald’s. The supernatural preferred the quiet, the dark, the spaces under beds. Monsters feared humans turning the lights on. But for all that, Mary’s admonitions to always keep an eye on the exits and entrances had stuck with him.

 

“Here,” he pressed the little paper slip of fries into Castiel’s hand.

 

“Dean, I don’t need to eat,” Castiel said, brow furrowed.

 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t _try_ some human food. I’m sorry that I couldn’t cook you something, but McDonald’s fries aren’t _all_ bad.”

 

He watched as Castiel studied the fries, selecting one and rolling it around between his fingers. Dean smiled around a mouthful of his burger.

 

“You might wanna eat that before it gets cold, dude.”

 

Castiel put it in his mouth and chewed slowly, face relaxing with every bite.

 

“That is…” he was struggling; Dean imagined there weren’t many words angels commonly used that could describe eating a French fry, “Delectable.”

“Cool, let me know if you need help finishing the rest of those,” Dean teased, gratified when Castiel pulled the packet of fries a little closer.

 

Dean dipped two of his own fries into his McFlurry, smiling a little wider when Castiel grimaced.

 

“It’s actually really good,” he said around his mouthful of fries, “If you wanna try it.”

 

Castiel shook his head.

 

“Suit yourself. Okay, so,” Castiel peered at Dean as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop, “How long has God been missing?”

 

“About a thousand years,” Castiel was comparing the lengths of two different French fries; then he ate both of them at the same time.

 

“And they sent you to look for him…”

 

“About a week ago, in earthly time,” Castiel looked up for the first time since Dean had brought up God in their conversation, blue eyes bluer against the pastel imitation on the seat cushion behind him, “Don’t ask why now, Dean. That is something I am not permitted to tell anyone, let alone a Man of Letters.”

 

“I’m not a Man of Letters yet,” Dean said, “That’s where you come in, Feathers.”

 

Castiel said nothing.

 

Feeling unsettled, Dean did the best thing he could, and returned to his meal. The sooner they got back to the road, the better.

 

Castiel also made no attempt to resume conversation, though he did pull Dean’s McFlurry closer to himself so he could experimentally swipe two of his fries into the chocolatey sludge. Dean was warmed by his totally open delight.

 

“If you’re not a Man of Letters,” Castiel said suddenly as they were finishing up, “Then what are you?”

 

“For whatever reason, I’d assumed you already knew about that. For my civilian job I work as an elementary school teacher, first graders.”

 

It didn’t quite make sense that Castiel would know what those words meant, considering he hadn’t been on the earth in two thousand years, but he nodded anyway.

 

“Do you like it?”

 

“Yeah, of course!” Dean said, then backtracked a little; that had been much too overeager for him. He cleared his throat and tried again, “I mean, it’s a hell of a lot of work. but yeah, I like it. The kids are great. They’re why I keep teaching, and why I started teaching in the first place. It’s also great cause it works a little better with my training schedule for the Men of Letters. And one of the Elders is the principal at the school, so that’s convenient, and a couple of the kids and grandkids of other Men and Women of Letters are at the school, a couple even in my class.”

 

“I didn’t know you were a teacher,” Castiel said, blue eyes fixed on his face, and it struck Dean that he was listening so carefully, all his attention fixed on Dean’s words. There were very few people in Dean’s life that listened to him like that, much less when he went rambling. When he said that he hadn’t thought Dean was a teacher, there was open wonder and friendliness in his voice. It warmed him to his toes.

 

“Yeah, nobody really expected it,” he scratched at the back of his neck, “Except maybe my mom and Sam. I don’t really look like the nurturing type, I guess. But, uh…I got the award for teacher of the year, last year.”

 

“Of course you did,” Castiel said, and Dean took another slurp of his McFlurry so he wouldn’t have to say anything, “What do you teach?”

 

“Well, all sorts of things. First-grade is fun too cause they haven’t all been…disillusioned yet. They still get excited about stuff, you know, it’s refreshing, when all I see in my other job is monsters.”

 

Castiel nodded solemnly.

 

“What did you do?” Dean was surprised to realize that he was invested in Castiel’s answer, “Before you came back to earth for your God quest?”

 

“I existed incorporeally with my brothers and sisters in heaven.”

 

“That sounds…boring.”

 

Castiel smirked, “It was peaceful, even good, for a long while, and then…”

 

“And then…?”

 

“We realized God was missing, and… now I’m here.”

 

They left the McDonald’s soon after, anxious to be on their way again. Dean was beginning to realize that Castiel, like him, was no good at staying still.

 

They talked only logistics for the rest of the trip. Dean quizzed Castiel on where he’d already been on his quest. They talked about Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the Vatican and a dozen other sacred places where God could have holed up, and, without fail, Castiel had checked there.

 

“Well, shit,” Dean said simply, “That’s all my first ideas, right there. I sure hope Bobby has something more for us.”

 

Bobby did call Dean back when they were only an hour out from his scrapyard. Dean gave him the same rundown that he’d given Sam. Bobby had groused in his ear about caution and _how did you know it was an angel_ and _God? Angels wasn’t enough, now it’s God?_ But he’d then ended the conversation by saying there’d be beer waiting for them in the fridge when they arrived.

 

**

 

 “Have you tried Jerusalem?” was Bobby’s first question as he stacked tome after tome out on his battered kitchen table, “One thing we do know from this book,” he tapped at his copy of the Bible, “is that God is pretty fond of it.”

 

Castiel nodded, “That was the first place I looked.”

 

Bobby wasn’t fazed, “Did you check the Vatican or—”

 

“He checked all the religious hotspots,” Dean interrupted, “We went over that on the way here.”

 

“Remember you asked for my help, boy,” Bobby grumbled, but he was smiling. He’d taught Dean, too, before his formal training, taught him all the types of research that the Men and Women of Letters didn’t ever have to learn.

 

That was the extent of their conversation for a few hours. Well, of conversation that Dean was involved in. Exhausted from driving for eight hours, he collapsed on the bed he and Sam had always shared on their stays at Bobby’s, He slept out a solid six hours.

 

When he padded quietly back into the kitchen, Bobby and Castiel were still bent over the books on the kitchen table. Bobby was sipping contemplatively on what Dean was sure couldn’t have been his first cup of coffee, and Castiel had a cup of his own, one of Bobby’s classic mugs with forest scenes. Castiel was still just as impeccably dressed as before, having not even bothered to take off his coat, despite how warm it was in Bobby’s house. Dean wondered if angelic senses were _dulled_ somehow, because it seemed Castiel could feel hot and cold, but he never was bothered to do anything about it. Castiel took a careful slurp of his coffee just as Dean caught sight of him.

 

“You got enough coffee for one more?” Dean asked.

 

“You know where the mugs are,” Bobby said, “And then sit your ass down cause Sam, Cas, and I have come up with some great ideas.”

 

Dean immediately started, ears pricked for the sound of his brother’s giant feet, or his voice.

 

“He called Bobby earlier,” Castiel said, looking up from his coffee.

 

“You can’t set me up like that, Bobby,” Dean poured his coffee into another one of Bobby’s mugs, a Starbucks mug from San Antonio, probably a gift from a hunter he’d helped.

 

Dean noticed that Bobby was using the mug that John and Mary had given him after they’d worked a case together. Actually, it was mug that Sam and Dean had painted for Bobby when they were kids. They’d attempted to paint the Normal, IL skyline and then Dean had had the bright idea to fill in a Devil’s Trap for the sun. It was completely hideous, but every time Dean had visited since, it was either in the dishwasher or on the counter.

 

“It’s not like I tried to get your hopes up,” Bobby defended, “You’d just always rather believe that your brother was around.”

 

“What’d my geek brother have to say, anyway?”

 

“He and Castiel and I reached the same conclusion,” Bobby said, “God is either in the shittiest places on earth or the best.”

 

Dean sat down so that they could explain it to him. Their theory was relatively solid, theologically speaking. In Scripture, many wrote that God inhabited most beautiful natural settings, but also dwelling among the poor.

 

“Well, it’s better than closing our eyes and pointing at a map,” Dean conceded, “I’m game if you are, Castiel.”

 

Castiel nodded, “The amulet will help. We should be able to rule out locations efficiently.”

 

“Efficient is good. Do you have a list of places we should visit?”

 

“I left it in the other room,” Castiel said, standing.

 

When he’d left, Bobby eyed Dean suspiciously.

 

“You’re taking this whole God business remarkably well. Too well.”

 

“What do you want me to say, Bobby. This is how I become a Man of Letters. I’ll do what I have to do.”

 

“Do you even _believe_ in God?”

 

“Hopefully Castiel believes enough for the both of us.”

 

***

 

Neither Castiel nor Dean felt like wasting time.  Dean took off the amulet and placed it around Castiel’s neck. He felt empty without it, but Castiel took it solemnly, felt the weight of its meaning.

 

The list that Castiel, Sam, and Bobby had compiled was in Dean’s pocket along with a pen. They’d decided to use Bobby’s house as a sort of headquarters, a place to return to in between forays.

 

They decided to start with the ____________,  filled with pristine beaches that were left in their mostly natural state.

 

*

 

_I have erased of some of the names of the places that Castiel and I visited in case some nutjob finds these and wants to check the same places we did._

_It’s also a matter of protection for Castiel and me._

_This particular place is a little more sensitive as this is where Castiel finally told me why he was sent to find God in the first place. I’m still kind of amazed he told me so quickly, considering what it was._

 

_And considering all the poor beach-goers who overheard our conversation._

*

 

Castiel outstretched his index and middle finger, and brushed lightly against Dean’s forehead. With the sound of rushing wind, Dean found himself on sand, doubled over with nausea.

 

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, leaning over to try and look Dean in the face, as though he suspected Dean would lie.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” he put a bracing hand on Castiel’s shoulder, “Just never taken Angel Air before.”

 

Dean straightened and blinked in the bright sunlight. They were on a beach, a coastline. Though it was summer, there were very few tourists on the sand. The ocean breeze kept it too cool for tanning. It was a short coastline, the pale sand extending only a few feet past the tall sand dunes into the dark water. The gulls were noisier in the absence of human sounds and the wind rushed through the swaying mass of sea oats. The ocean roared and hissed in equal measure with the push-and-pull of the tide.

 

It had been years since Dean had last seen the ocean.

 

“Wow,” Dean said, then took stock of just how few people were actually on the beach. “Well, at least there aren’t too many candidates for God around here.”

 

“Yes,” Castiel said, observing the same few scattered on the narrow shoreline, “Let’s just walk awhile, and see if the amulet responds.”

 

Castiel began to walk down the beach, coat flapping in the wind. Dean walked beside him. Dean kept sneaking glances at the ocean. After a couple minutes, brightly colored houses were dotting the other side of the dunes. There were little paths, leading up and over the high dunes and winding down to met the shoreline. A few people were camped out on the sand. Far fewer in the water, and Dean wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t _hot_ outside by any means, but the water still looked inviting.

 

“Nothing yet?”

 

“No,” but clearly he wasn’t feeling the same fidgetiness that Dean was, just kept walking.

 

As the sun rose, Dean took off his jacket and his heavy button-down, leaving him a little cooler in his t-shirt and jeans. Sand was somehow sneaking into his boots, and he wished he could stop to unlace them and take off his socks, but Castiel showed no sign of even slowing down.

 

Dean didn’t do well with silence, though.

 

“So…what’s the coolest thing you’ve seen on earth so far?”

 

Castiel stared at him.

 

“Well, you’ve been wandering the earth, looking for God now, for a while, right? So you must have seen some awesome stuff.”

 

Castiel was still somber, reverent, as though the beach they were walking was a church, but then he said, “I liked the Vatican.”

 

Dean thought that Castiel looked more like the kind of guy who’d enjoy long extended camping trips what with his obvious respect for the land around them.

 

“I’ve heard it’s beautiful,” Dean shrugged; churches weren’t exactly his thing, neither were nature hikes, actually, “A lot of tourists, though.”

 

Castiel finally turned his way. He was confused by the word “tourists,” but just when Dean was just going to tell him to forget about it, he spoke again.

 

“There were many interesting people there.”

 

His tone was unmistakably fond. Dean was warmed by it. Hostile non-humans had the unfortunate tendency to badmouth humans before they attacked. Castiel had shown nothing but curiosity and kindness toward humans. It was the opposite of what Dean would’ve expected from an angel. Maybe Castiel was that same angel from Zechariah after all.

 

Not that he’d ever expected getting to meet any angel at all, much less search for a God he didn’t believe in, though. He looked at Castiel, remembered how sure his belief was, and knew that he needed to bring Castiel up to speed.

 

“So…I’m not gonna lie, Cas, before I met you…I didn’t really believe in angels much less God.”

 

Castiel stopped where he was upon hearing Dean’s confession and turned to face him, face tight in concern.

 

“Why not?”

 

“I guess I never really saw any reason to. When you…I come from a family of hunters on the one side and Men and Women of Letters on the other. We know all about all the monsters in the dark, so sometimes it’s hard for us to believe in the good, too.”

 

He looked up and Castiel was staring at him, once again taking in his words thoughtfully.

 

“My brother Sam believes, though. He even told me that he prays every day. Sometimes I’m amazed we’re actually related.”

 

Castiel remained grave. “Do you believe now?”

 

Dean shrugged, “Well, I ‘believe’ in angels obviously, but God…I don’t know…hey, that reminds me. What about Lucifer?”

 

They’d begun to stroll down at the beach again, and when Dean asked this question he was stunned to see Castiel stumble a little over his own feet on the loose sand.

 

“What do you know of him?”

 

“Well,” Dean kept his tone nonchalant, “I know that demons think of Lucifer mostly as a myth or a bedtime story, but some of them are pretty gung-ho about him.”

 

He would never forget his grandfather’s retelling of how he’d met a Knight of hell. He and the Elders had just barely managed to escape with their lives. Abaddon had possessed Josie Sands. It was a story that occasionally haunted him when he addressed the Elder and saw the long scar across her face. Abaddon had been frantically clawing at Sands’ face during the exorcism before they’d managed to tie her down.

 

She had been the first Elder to get one of his and Sam’s proposed anti-possession tattoos.

 

Lucifer may or not even have been real, but the demons who believed in him _were_ , and they were the cruelest.

 

“Yes, he exists,” Castiel said, “But he’s trapped. The seals must be broken for him to be freed from his prison.”

 

“Like the seals mentioned in Revelation?”

 

“Yes, except...” Castiel stopped, “Yes, like those. When sixty-six are broken, any sixty-six, the apocalypse can finally begin.”

 

 _Finally?_ But Dean thought that might not be the wisest way to continue the conversation, even though the word choice alarmed him. He was learning that prying information out of Castiel was a delicate thing, and that was too sensitive a subject for him now.  “So…again, the only way I’ve heard about Lucifer is through demons, and you know their story of his fall is... _sweet_.”

 

“You’re asking for the real story?”

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Dean said, “Or at least the other side.”

 

“I was there on the day that he fell,” Castiel said.

 

“You were?” Dean said, “How old are you?”

“Older than you,” for all his reluctance to discuss Lucifer, Castiel was remarkably patient in his explanation, “All angels were created in the same moment, long before our Father created your earth, though we have different ranks and tasks. I was there when Lucifer fell. I was there before he fell as well.”

 

If he noticed the way that a tough, tanned woman had sat up from her floral towel to stare, he didn’t care. Dean smiled.

 

“He was jealous of humanity. He had always believed himself to be Our Father’s favorite, and decided that Father’s love should not go to what he believed to be such base, vile creatures. He believed that his will was above our Fathers. So Michael was ordered to cast him out. It was a difficult day, for Michael especially. He and Lucifer were once very close.”

 

“Huh, not the story I was expecting.”

 

“What were you expecting?”

 

It was amazing how Castiel could make questions sound like declarations. Probably came with being an angel.

 

“More fire and brimstone, less chick-flick, I guess?”

 

“There was fire and brimstone, too, if that helps,” and Dean’s eyes could be deceiving him, but he was pretty sure that Castiel was smiling a little.

 

“Yeah, makes it more authentic,” Dean smiled.

 

The sun had risen in the sky, and more and more tourists were filing out onto the beaches. Sweat was beading on Dean’s forehead and the back of his neck. He wished that he could toe off his boots and socks, but he had nowhere to keep his shoes, and putting sandy feet back into his shoes later would suck.

 

Castiel, meanwhile, was perfectly comfortable even in his heavy trench coat and suit. Dean convinced him after a while that it probably would serve them better to be less conspicuous, so he took off his coat and folded it gingerly over one arm. It Dean had never before noticed just how bulky the coat was until Castiel had taken it off. When he was no longer hidden beneath its weight, Dean noticed how narrow his shoulders were, and when Dean had finally convinced him to roll up the sleeves of his shirt, he’d seen how pale his arms were.

 

There was very little conversation between the two of them, and Dean was content to just dwell in the silence. After another ten minutes or so of walking in silence, Dean finally asked how much longer Castiel thought they should devote to this one beach.

 

“I’m not sure. How can we say for sure if we’ve checked it thoroughly?”

 

This was exactly why Dean shouldn’t have chosen to come along in the first place. Neither of them really knew what the hell they were doing. But it was that visible loss of direction that made Dean decide to follow him in the first place. Castiel was trying so hard to appear as though this whole thing made sense to him.

 

“Well, I say we walk for another twenty minutes or so,” Dean pointed down the beach, where they could see the outline of a pier, “We should have reached that pier by then. I think we can call it quits then. Here, anyway. If we finish the rest of the list, then we can always come back here.”

“I suppose that makes sense,” Castiel said.

 

As the pier solidified in their vision, Dean decided that despite Castiel’s frosty response to his interrogation the night before, it was in their best interest for him to ask again.

 

“So…I know you said you couldn’t tell me, but is there some hint you can give?”

 

“About what?”

 

Castiel clearly remembered (he was such a god-awful liar; that was another thing they would have to work on), and Dean sighed.

 

“About why you’re here looking for God _now_ , instead of a thousand years ago.”

 

“Angel politics,” Castiel said shortly, “With the throne vacant, Michael assumed primary command of the angels, but lately others among the ranks want some of that power for themselves.”

 

“And you were asked to find God so that complete chaos doesn’t break out?”

 

Castiel nodded, “For all our bickering, the angels are weary. We have long been ready for the end.”

 

“Wait,” Dean stopped where he was, dread weighing down his feet, “ _The end_?’

 

Castiel stopped too, but could not remain still. His gaze couldn’t find a place to rest, and his hands were restlessly brushing over the coat resting on his arm.

 

“There are two ways to end the current mess in heaven. One is to restore the natural order of heaven and the other is to end the chaos on earth and bring paradise.”

 

“Hold on, you’re not…you can’t be talking about ending the earth?” Dean noticed from a distance how his voice was skipping in his panic, “I thought angels were supposed to protect people.”

“Many now feel that humans aren’t worth protecting because of how you have wrecked so much of His creation,” Castiel explained, drawing a line in the sand with the toe of his shoe.

 

“Just cause we leave trash around doesn’t mean we deserve the freakin’ apocalypse!”

“Look around, Dean,” Castiel swept an arm out to gesture to the very beach they were standing on, “There was all this talk about how these beaches were kept pristine, preserved in their original form to safeguard them, but even here, you trash what was given to you.”

 

Every word he spoke was forced out, and Dean could see that, could see Castiel’s own reluctance to say such things, but fear and anger propelled him.

 

“You said that Lucifer fell because he hated humans. You say that God cast him out because God loves us,” he said, stepping closer to Castiel to show him to see what a profoundly stupid idea this was, “And you and your feathery friends think that God’s just gonna ‘ok’ the apocalypse, when it means that all of us humans will die?”

 

“I think He will understand,” Castiel said, and Dean watched his posture tighten, straighten defensively, “He gave you all this good green earth to tend and you have laid it to waste. War, inequalities, injustice everywhere you turn.”

 

“That’s what free will is all about though, right? We can screw up the planet, and believe me I know how bad we’ve screwed up, but that was _our choice_.”

 

“A choice that angels can set to right! We could finally bring peace here.”

 

“Some kind of peace if no one is around to enjoy it,” Dean shook his head, “Cas, I don’t understand. I thought you liked humanity.”

 

“Don’t misunderstand me. My thoughts…they may differ from most angels, but I still have my orders.”

 

“Bullshit. You still have a choice.”

 

“I’m not human, Dean. Choice is not an option for soldiers like me.”

 

Clearly he believed that would be the end of the conversation. Clearly he hadn’t met a Winchester before.

 

“You’re talking about the deaths of _billions_ of people,” Dean said, lowering his voice when he saw a couple tourists startle at his words, “You can’t claim to care about humanity and then participate in their slaughter. You can’t care that much if—”

“ _Don’t you dare claim I don’t care_ ,” Castiel said, leaning in close, “You know nothing about the affairs of angels or about me.”

 

“I know enough,” Dean said, “You say that you _like_ humanity, that you’ve enjoyed your time here on earth, but you’re working to destroy it.”

 

Castiel backed away, looking at the sand.

 

“Yes, I know that should I report that I can’t find God, those above me will start the apocalypse, but,” he finally looked Dean in the eye again, “You’re wrong to say that I don’t care. I had to meet up with my superiors a week ago to report on my progress. I believed even then that there was a very little chance that I would find God on my own. I had an obligation to tell them that…but I didn’t. I said I had an idea of where He might be. I helped humanity have one more month.”

 

“Cas—”

 

“Don’t think I’m not trying. I’m trying. Don’t ask more than I can give.”

 

His voice was breaking, and Dean suddenly realized that he had brought the ttheir conversation to a brink.  

 

“Okay,” Dean said, voice still uncompromising, but he was pulling them away from the ledge, “I think we’re done here. Let’s head back to Bobby’s. I can grab some lunch and then we can head out again. If we only have a month,” the thought was staggering, “Then we better hustle our asses to make sure every place checks out.”

 

Castiel bristled at the command, but evidently didn’t think it was worth talking about, pressing two fingers to Dean’s forehead without another word.

 

The rest of their day held none of the camaraderie that they had so bravely started with. After Dean had eaten, they took off again, this time to survey Mt. _____. There were few other hikers along the meandering trail through the pines, and the silence was spun thickly around them.

 

Dean wished that he could just be angry. Anger seemed a much simpler emotion than the potent grief he was feeling. He couldn’t believe that only a few hours earlier he had been so enjoying Castiel’s company. What a dick. Castiel’s spine was straight, stance still firm and strong, but Dean could tell that their earlier confrontation had rattled both of them.

 

But that didn’t mean Dean could give in. He knew that if he could only show Castiel just how much there was to lose by ending the earth, then they would once again be on the same side. It was just time to call in reinforcements.

 

His sense of time was twisted from all their flying, but he shot off a text to Sam anyway.

 

_How do you convince someone to help you stop an apocalypse without yelling at them?_

He and Sam devised a plan through texts over the course of the afternoon, Dean squinting as the sky grew darker, heavy with the promise of rain. Castiel was clearly curious about the reason that Dean kept checking his phone, but was thankfully too stubborn to ask.  

 

Sam had suggested that he take Castiel to visit some of the wonderful things that humans had accomplished. Maybe to an art museum or to NASA’s headquarters. They’d even thrown Disneyland in as an option.

 

Castiel was already fond of humanity, which made their job simpler. Now Dean had to convince him that they were worth more than affection; they were worth sacrifice.

 

When an hour had gone by without them seeing another soul as they continued their climb, Dean knew it was time for him to start his plan by reconnecting with Castiel.

 

“Hey, about earlier,” Dean said, “I still don’t agree with you, but I guess you’ve got to do your thing for your bosses. I know it’s got to be hard as hell for you.”

 

Castiel smiled a little, “I didn’t think I’d hear you say that.”

 

“Yeah, well, don’t expect me to say it again. I just didn’t want the rest of your time here to be as awkward as this afternoon.”

 

They continued walking, their strides matching easily. Dean wondered how much a soldier of heaven and a Man of Letters (hopefully!) could have in common. Even in shoes that were entirely unsuited to their climb, Castiel remained tall in posture, dignified; Dean was slouched in his jeans and jacket, but they were both scanning their surroundings, ever alert. As they rounded a corner, Castiel spoke again.

 

“There is something else that you should know,” he looked Dean in the eye, “I have a deadline. I’ve been…avoiding it, but my superiors…I have a month left.”

 

“Well, isn’t that a coincidence,” the cool wind was a blessing, “I have till the end of the month to deliver the angel feathers to the elders.”

 

“Whether or not we find our Father, I will give you feathers.”

 

A laugh clawed its way out of Dean’s throat, “Won’t make much of a difference if we don’t find God.”

 

Dean suddenly realized another huge part of this whole apocalypse scenario. If they didn’t find God, hunters would have to go to war to defend…well, everyone. He and Castiel would probably be fighting on opposite sides. Dean knew that he would never be capable of killing him or even really trying.

 

“We’ll just have to do our best then.”

 

“I’ve got some good news,” Dean said, holding up his phone, “Sam and I were talking this afternoon and we thought that maybe God might like to visit places or things that humans have built or made. He might like to see what we’ve accomplished.”

 

“That sounds reasonable to me. I presume you added more to the list?”

 

“Just a few things. Starting with the Happiest Place On Earth.”

***

 

Maybe Dean would have felt a little guilty for dragging the thoroughly socially awkward Castiel to Disneyland, but seeing him in Mickey Mouse ears was priceless.

 

They ate churros as they wandered the park, coming down from Mainstreet, USA, and into the main plaza.

 

“So where should we check first, Cas? My vote is Fantasyland.”

 

“I don’t think it matters to me.”

 

Dean had originally brought Cas to Disneyland because…well, because he thought it would be fun, but also because he believed that Castiel would enjoy seeing a place of fun built by humans for humans. And who knew? Maybe God had chosen to hole up in Disneyland? Stranger things had happened.

 

Castiel wasn’t interested in the sights and sounds of Disneyland so much as all the people there. As they walked, he kept swiveling his head around to look at the costumed characters, eyes wide. To Dean’s disappointment, he never approached any of them, even though Dean had suggested it more than once.  

 

Dean was gratified, though, that Castiel chose to stick close to his side, their sleeves brushing with every step.

 

Cas didn’t like all of it, of course. He was offended by quite a few of the attractions and costumes. Adventureland in particular drew his scorn, with its hollow mimicry of foreign cultures.

 

“Adventureland cheapens and exploits other cultures, Dean,” he said solemnly.

 

So Dean dragged Castiel off to Tomorrowland instead.

 

They got to ride the Toy Story ride, and it turned out it was some ride where you got to shoot at moving targets. He and Cas had sat next to each other in a little spaceship thing and taken aim.

 

“Okay, whoever loses has to buy dinner tonight,” Dean said, as they rounded a corner into a dark room, targets lit up by blacklight.

 

“I don’t think this is the kind of thing you can lose, Dean,” Castiel told him, but he was eying the targets more seriously now.

 

“I mean whoever gets the fewest points, Cas,” Dean said, nudging at him with his elbow, and dammit, he’d taken his eyes off the targets for two seconds and Castiel already had two hundred points on him.

 

He should have known that an angel of the Lord would have superior aim, but somehow when Cas came waltzing out with like eight hundred thousand to his two hundred thousand, he could only gripe about it a couple times.

 

Castiel looked happier than Dean had seen him since they met, so he shut up, and forked over the money for burgers.

 

It wasn’t like Cas would’ve had money to pay for dinner anyway.  

 

It was a good day.

 

*

 

For the most part, their days travelling were good. With the apocalypse hanging over their heads, Dean had assumed that their initial hostility would continue, but instead Dean found that he enjoyed traveling with Castiel.

 

Though he had plenty of knowledge himself, Dean was used to being on the lesser end of information among his closest friends and family. Castiel was no exception, brimming with historical facts and adoration for all the sciences, but Dean still had much that he could teach him.

 

Castiel had never had beer before, hadn’t seen any movies of _any_ kind, had never truly been given the opportunity to speak with people (well, not human people, anyway), had never seen any _Star Trek_ (and that’s a separate category from movies altogether; Dean’s not a moron).

 

As much as Dean wanted to resent it, wanted to hate the dick for being willing to watch the world burn, he liked him. It certainly didn’t help that the poor guy Cas was possessing (“his vessel” he had intoned solemnly) wasn’t half-bad looking. More than that, they had more in common than Dean would have guessed.

 

Dean gave Castiel food to try wherever they wandered, and in return Castiel would, with some coaxing, relate some story about another time that he had played tourist.

 

He told Dean about the time that he spent at Westminster Abbey and his trip to Notre Dame, and places that Dean had never heard of, like The Taizé Community.

 

He and Cas had many adventures of their own. True to his and Sam’s plan, Dean led Castiel to many of the sites of great pride for humanity, leading him on a trail of art and natural science museums, nature preserves, and memorials. Castiel took it all in with his affectionate stare, one hand wrapped tight around the amulet in his pocket should it start to burn.

 

So far, Dean’s favorite had been the day that he and Castiel visited the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum.

 

He had always been enamored of space and the potential it held. Before he’d wanted to be a teacher and after he wanted to be a fireman, he’d spent hours and hours on NASA’s website, dreaming of going into space. He had long abandoned that dream, but he still followed space news and, of course, every good sci-fi show he could find.

 

He normally kept this to himself (well, Charlie and Sam knew, but they hardly counted) but something about Castiel’s open face as they strolled through the museum passing icons such as ______ and _______ made him willing to let all his enthusiasm come spilling over.

 

It should’ve scared him how easily he opened himself up, especially given what he knew about the guy, but it didn’t.

 

Castiel had returned Dean’s vulnerability with his own when they sat down for lunch. Well, at least he’d paid it back with secrets of his own.

 

“I am always impressed by the curiosity of humanity,” he’d said, chewing idly on a ham-and-cheese sandwich, “You have all that you need here on earth, but you still try to reach farther.”

 

Castiel picked up certain human customs easily, but eating neatly wasn’t one of them. He always tried to be so fastidious, carefully holding his food _just so_ , but he always managed to make a mess. That day had been no exception. Crumbs had been clinging to the front of his coat and his to his hands, and Dean tried not to notice the smear of mayonnaise just above his upper lip.

 

Then a thought had occurred to Dean, so exciting that he had bounced a little in his seat when he leaned forward.

 

“As an angel, you wouldn’t happen to know if there is anything out there to find?”

 

Cas smiled, “There is much yet that humans have not seen.”

 

But Dean suddenly couldn't smile back.

 

“Will all of that go too? If…”

 

“I’m afraid so,” Cas said, setting his sandwich town and wiping his hands carefully on the napkin. His hands were perfectly steady, but Dean could see how his words had affected him in the line of his shoulders, and the twitch in his jaw.

 

Dean wanted to think, _good_ , _that’s what you get_ , but instead he only felt sadness. That stupid mayonnaise was still smeared over Castiel’s face.

 

“Hey,” he said, and when he had Cas’ gaze again, he put on one of his best smiles, “Tell me more about what’s out there.”

 

Castiel couldn’t match Dean’s smile with one of his own, but folded his hands and sighed a little.

 

“Of course.”

 

******

 

_I’m sure you’re all dying to know what it was that Cas told me about space, but I’m sworn to secrecy. All I can say is that we have a lot to be excited about._

_And now, I promise, I’ll skip over all the rest of the boring shit and get straight back to the apocalypse._

***

 

They did not speak of oncoming apocalypse again, but it inhabited their silences, and Dean knew that he wasn’t being as subtle as he could or should be. _Is this enough reason for you?_ he was asking with each successive journey, _Can’t you see that humanity is worth fighting for?_

 

It wasn’t in Castiel’s nature to take such challenges lying down. After a week or so of such trips, Dean woke in Bobby’s room to the familiar sight of Castiel sitting on the opposite bed. Then he presented Dean with a new list of places to visit.

 

“Your brother’s idea has been very helpful,” Castiel admitted, “God does take delight in seeing what his creation has accomplished, but I believe that He also dwells with those who suffer. Have you ever read the minor prophets in the Old Testament?”

 

Castiel took him to place after place were monsters had struck and hunters hadn’t heard. Wendigo dens, harpy nests, the graves of angry spirits never laid to rest.

 

 _See?_ Castiel kept asking, _Do you see why we want all this to end?_

 

They continued in such a way for another couple weeks, traveling to a place of humanity’s triumph in the morning, and of calamity in the afternoon.

 

Dean knew it couldn’t last. His own frustrations were reaching a boiling point, and Castiel even seemed more perturbed than usual. Dean had never been particularly optimistic about humanity, or even about the hunter community, and this slow, deliberate erosion of his hopes was killing both of them.

 

****

 

“Shit, Cas, there weren’t any humans _left_ there! All we saw were corpses. Why the hell did you take me?”

 

Dean was yelling, ignoring the burn in his throat he’d gotten from vomiting. The wendigo’s cave had been rancid. Even his strong hunter’s stomach had turned violently. He staggered to his feet, fingers gripping the cool marble of the sink counter.

 

“You needed to see it,” Cas said from outside the bathroom, but he held out a cool washcloth.

 

That just pissed Dean off more, that Castiel could care so much about _him_ , but not give a crap about all the deaths that they had just bore witness to.

 

“What did I need to see?”

 

“That you, all you hunters and people like you, you can’t save this earth, not really. You’re one person trying to hold back the tide.”

 

“Have you ever met a real hunter?” Dean spat, rage sharpening his words, “Bobby doesn’t count. He’s not even in the field. Have you ever met a single fucking one?”

 

Castiel’s jaw tightened, “I’ve been told about them—“

“By the same dicks who want to see the earth deep-fried and crispy? And you believed them about humans?”

 

“They haven’t been entirely wrong,” Castiel pointed out, “You’ve taken me to memorials, but have you forgotten that most of them are placed because you slaughter each other?”

 

“You can’t think all humans are terrible, Cas. I mean, you’ve kept me around. You could have just taken the amulet and flown away.”

 

“Not every human is like you and your brother,” Castiel said, his face unreadable.  

 

“And not all of them deserve to die!”

 

“You misunderstand me again,” Castiel said, and then collapsed to sit on the edge of the bathtub like he couldn’t stand any longer, hands folded in front of him, as though in prayer to his deadbeat dad.

 

Dean couldn’t stay mad at him. Castiel had been a dick, but he _had_ gotten rid of the wendigo, prevented more death, so Dean sat beside him.

 

“Let’s try this again,” he suggested.

 

“I wanted to kill the wendigo,” Castiel explained, “I love my Father, but I’m beginning…I don’t know if we’ll find him. I wanted to do some good, leave that behind.”

 

Dean thought again of that day they had spent at the Air and Space Museum, both of them so intently focused on the optimism in humanity’s future in the stars. Humanity’s immediate future did rest in the heavens, but not the one that Dean had been looking up at all his life.

 

“Okay,” Dean said, “You really don’t think we’ll find Him?”

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel said, “But the chances are small. I dread the choices you and I will have to make in the days to come.”

 

He looked sicker at heart than Dean had ever seen him, and that was saying something, considering the grimness of some of the places they had seen together.

 

Dean began to reconsider his methods of education. He’d been so focused on highlighting the grandeur of humanity that he’d forgotten the mundane, the nit-and-grit of _normal_. Sam had harped on about it every once in a while, wistful for a life fully unaware of monsters (Dean could empathize with that). He’d been so relieved when Sam had been able to straddle both worlds, going to Stanford and working at places like The Lazarus Firm in his spare time.

 

But Castiel…he hadn’t even gotten the chance to see what “normality” meant to humans. Dean hadn’t a clue where he could take Castiel to find a white picket fence and apple pie, but he could do one better by giving him the chance to meet some down-to-earth, everyday hunters. Sure, their idea of normal didn’t abide by the world’s definition, but Dean thought the hunter community would serve the same purpose well enough.

 

The Harvelles bi-monthly swing dance night was the perfect solution. They’d been just lucky enough to be at Bobby’s on the day of the dance.

 

Besides, Dean really wanted to watch Castiel shed his coat again. He could properly knot Castiel’s tie so it wasn’t constantly flipping backwards, and it would be a night away from the pressures of their job. One night to forget what was at stake and enjoy each other’s company.

 

Yeah, Dean decided, looking at Castiel’s rigid form, it’ll do us both some good.  

 

*

 

_At this point, I’m sure that you’re wondering why I took an angel to a swing dance when those angelic assholes were trying to start the apocalypse._

_That’s fair._

_I don’t think I really understood it myself at the time. I told Castiel that we needed a break, that it would do us both good to take some time off._

_We only had a week left before The End, and we had not found anything that might lead us to God._

_If I’m honest though, I was starting to lose hope in my mission, but I hadn’t lost hope that I could get Castiel to our team. I thought that maybe, if he saw just how worthwhile our side was, he’d want to join._

_I didn’t know then about the choices he had already made._

*

 

Dean hadn’t taken Castiel to the Roadhouse before the dance, so he looked at it curiously as Dean pulled up with Castiel beside him. Dean had managed to persuade Castiel to get out of his heavy overcoat. The suit underneath didn’t fit him as well as it should, but when Dean took off the tie and told Cas to roll up his sleeves, he finally looked almost casual enough for a night at the Roadhouse.

 

“What is this place?”

 

“The Roadhouse,” Dean said, making no move yet to get out of the car. This conversation had to come first, “It’s a sort of local hang-out for hunters. My mom brought Sam and me here a lot when we were younger.”

 

Castiel stared, “What are we doing here _now_?”

 

“It’s the Harvelles Bi-monthly swing dancing night, not normally my thing, but Jo and I are really pretty damn good at it, and I thought you’d like it. Get to see some of humanity at its finest. I think you’ll like these people.”

 

“I like most people.”

 

“I know,” Castiel liked people more than he did, not that it was difficult.

 

“But I still don’t understand what we’re doing here. You and I do have other matters to attend to.”

 

“Everybody needs a night off once in a while, Cas. This one’s ours,” Dean said, and watched as Castiel’s eyes widened, reflecting the bright warm light coming in through the windows.

 

“Yes, alright,” he said finally, and Dean released a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding.

 

It was still pretty early, so Dean wasn’t surprised to see that the Harvelles were still setting up the main room. Jo was standing by jukebox, glaring at it as if to will change from the Big Band music bursting through the speakers. Ellen and Bill were pushing tables back against the walls to clear the dancing space. They stepped back from their work as the door creaked open.

 

“Well, a Winchester in my lowly hunter bar,” Ellen smiled, arms open.

 

Her hugs were tight but brief. Bill was next, giving Dean a heavy clap on the shoulder.

 

“Who’d you bring with you this time?” Ellen asked, eyebrows raised as she attempted to peer around Dean.

 

Dean pulled Castiel around to stand beside him, “This is my friend, Cas,” he introduced, “He’s never had the pleasure of a Harvelle party before.”

 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Harvelle,” Cas intoned, holding a hand out; Dean was proud.

 

“Please, it’s Ellen,” she said, shaking his hand briefly, “And I can’t believe you actually brought someone with manners, Dean.”

 

“It’s gonna ruin my reputation,” Dean sighed.

 

Bill was shaking hands with Cas now.

 

“Will we get to see Sam tonight too?” Ellen asked.

 

It wasn’t something that Dean had thought of, but considering Castiel’s abilities, it wasn’t like it would be difficult, and it would be good to see him and Castiel finally meet.

 

“Maybe later.”

Jo was the next one to spot them, and she was dragging Dean’s cousin Gwen Campbell along behind her, so Dean was able to introduce both of them at the same time.

 

Castiel met them gladly, and Ellen herded them out of the doorway so that other hunters could come trickling in. While Ellen and Bill greeted a hunter that Dean recognized as the ex-FBI hunter Victor, Dean pulled Castiel off to the side.

 

“Hey, do you think that there’s any way we can use your mojo to pick up my brother in California and bring him back here for the party? His girlfriend might come too.”

 

Castiel frowned.

 

“I know it’s hard to believe, but my brother’s actually cooler than I am,” Dean said, “I think you’ll like him.”   

 

“Does his girlfriend know about the supernatural realm?” Castiel asked, leaning closer to Dean; he caught a whiff of his own cologne as Cas did so. Huh. He hadn’t known that the angel knew about cologne.

“Yeah, of course!” Dean said, “My brother’s a goody-two-shoes. He and Jess consider their relationship very serious, so he felt obligated to tell her. She took it surprisingly well. Only called him crazy once!”

 

Castiel smiled a little, but Dean saw the way that his shoulders slumped further. He hated that he’d added another weight to his shoulders.

 

“Do they believe in angels?” Castiel asked.

 

“Yeah, she and Sam are both religious,” Dean said, “So…you up for giving them a ride on Angel Air here to the Roadhouse?”

 

“Of course.”

 

Dean smiled, “Great. Just let me give Sam a call to give him the heads-up,” he started to move towards the door again, but rethought it, “You’ll be alright in here on your own?”

That got him a frown.

 

*

Sam and Jess’ street was quiet, serene. Their little apartment was on a hilly street typical of northern California and even though it was warmer, it was still pleasant because the air was dry.

 

They were standing on the sidewalk under the lamplight that lit the walkway. Castiel took a deep breath, and Dean realized again what a mistake he had made by limiting Castiel to one type of the human experience. There was beauty and peace in the normalcy of a quiet street too. Castiel clearly agreed, his eyes awed as he looked around.

 

“Yeah, Sam and Jess are living the high life,” Dean said, “Their apartment is just up here.”

 

Dean only had to knock once on the door before Sam threw it open, eyes going to straight to Castiel.

 

“You’re Castiel?” Sam’s eyes had widened; he rose on to his toes in his excitement.

 

“Yes,” Castiel said, frowning, “And you’re Sam Winchester.”

 

“Wow,” Sam said, “I’m sorry, it’s just…I never thought I’d get to meet an angel,” he held a hand out for Castiel shake, but Cas made no movement to take it.

 

Before it could become more awkward, Jess appeared, tugging Sam backward to let Dean and Castiel in.

 

“Hey there!” she said, smile brightening the dim doorway, “Come on in! Thanks for inviting Sam and me. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to get him out to have some fun!”

 

“I’ll help you out with that any time,” Dean promised, stepping into the apartment.

 

“It’s not like you haven’t been busy too, babe,” Sam said.

 

“Uh huh,” Jess was leading Sam back into their room now, “We’ll be out in a sec. Just make yourselves at home.”

 

“Sam and I should be ready in a minute or so,” Jess said; Dean could see that she’d already done her golden hair up in a fanciful twist, but she was still in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

 

“Take your time, Jess,” Dean grinned, “Wouldn’t want the Roadhouse to miss out on you at your finest.”

 

They disappeared into their room, and Dean turned around to Castiel. He was examining a framed photo of Jess and Dean and Sam that Dean recognized from last Thanksgiving.

 

“So what do you think?”

 

Castiel set the frame down on the mantle, but kept his back to Dean.

“He is not what I expected.”

 

Dean smiled.

 

“Yeah, he’s geekier and taller than I am.”

 

The tension remained in Castiel’s frame, but he pointed to the picture, “Is this your family?”

By the time that Dean had gone through telling Castiel about all of the various Winchesters and Campbells  (he didn’t know enough about Jess’ family to actually comment on their pictures) on the mantle, Sam and Jess returned.

 

Sam and Jess had dressed up for the occasion. Well, Jess had probably chosen both of their outfits. Dean doubted that Sam would’ve been able to look that put together without her guidance.

 

“So, Sam said that you could get us to the Roadhouse in no time,” Jess said, looking uneasy.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Cas, why don’t you beam me over first, and then Sam and Jess so they can see it’s all safe,” Dean suggested.

 

Sam tilted his head and mouthed “Cas?” at him; Dean rolled his eyes.

 

“That would be prudent,” Castiel agreed.

 

Without another word, Castiel put two fingers on Dean’s forehead and he was around the on the far side of the Roadhouse. Moments later, Castiel brought Sam and Jess to join him. Dean breathed a sigh of relief at that, glad that Castiel had the sense not to appear in the midst of hunters. Dean was raised by one hunter, so he wasn’t prejudiced against hunters like so many Men of Letters, but even he had to admit they had a tendency to panic.

 

The four of them headed into the Roadhouse, and Dean pulled back to let Sam and Jess lead the way. Jess linked arms with Castiel.

 

“So, Castiel,” Jess asked, “Sam and I were wondering if you’re allowed to talk about God at all? We’re religious and very curious.”

 

Castiel froze, eyes seeking Dean out, and Dean nudged up between the two of them. Castiel couldn’t lie, despite all of Dean’s best efforts to teach him.

 

“Nice try, Jess. I already asked. He’s sworn to secrecy, isn’t that right?”

 

“That’s right,” Castiel said, and gave Dean a smile.

 

Dean’s stomach leapt a little at the sight of it.

 

When they entered the Roadhouse, Dean was glad to see that Ellen was standing to one side of the dance floor, holding a microphone, which meant that she and Bill were just about to start teaching the newcomers how to swing dance.

 

Jo was suddenly at his side, leaning in close to nudge at him with her elbow.

 

“You ready to kick some ass tonight?” she whispered.

 

“Hell yeah,” he said, and gave her a high five.

 

“Jo and Dean think that they’re really hot stuff,” Sam told Castiel solemnly.

 

Jess sighed, putting a hand to her heart, “I guess it’s been too long since Sam and I put them in their place.”

 

“Bring it,” Dean challenged.

 

“Alright, alright,” Ellen said. The hunters kept talking over her, so she put the microphone down and whistled a long, piercing note. The room went quiet.

 

“Thank you,” she grinned, “Now, of course, we gotta get the new kids up here to teach them to dance, so if you’re new to the Roadhouse or new to swing dancing, come on up,” she gestured to the dance floor, “Bill and I will show you the ropes. If you’ve been to a few of these and you think you’re the hottest stuff on the floor,” and Dean didn’t know how, but Ellen managed to find their little company with her eyes, “Pay attention. You may learn something.”

 

“Go on,” Dean said to Cas, “You don’t know how to swing dance, do you?”

“No,” he said, but his eyes were wide and sad, so Dean had mercy on him.

 

“Fine, fine,” he said, “Jo and I will come up with you.”

 

Gwen Campbell was near the front, so when they got there, Dean asked her to be Castiel’s first dance partner.

 

“Of course,” she said with a smile, and took Castiel by the hand.

 

She was utterly bemused when Jo and Dean followed them onto the dance floor, but said nothing because Ellen was giving out instructions now, and _no one_ interrupted Ellen while she and Bill taught. Then she caught sight of him and Jo on the edge of the floor; they grinned and waved at her.

 

“What are you two doing over here?” she asked suspiciously.

 

“You said we might learn something?” Dean tried.

 

She rolled her eyes and got back to teaching.

 

Dean and Jo goofed off at the edge of the dance floor and watched the others learn. Castiel was awkward at first; his hands and spine too stiff to swing on the _rock step_ in the East Coast Swing. There was a little crease of worry in his forehead, but Gwen was patient, and Castiel was a remarkably fast learner. Dean was getting distracted by how easily Cas was finding his feet on the dance floor, worry lines giving way to a relaxed open-mouthed smile.

 

It was charming.

 

Every so often, Castiel would pause a moment, turning his head and scanning the floor for Dean and Jo. He’d smile at them; they’d smile back, and he’d turn back to Gwen.

 

Dean thought Gwen looked like she was having fun, even dancing with such a novice as Cas while she had been coming to the Harvelles’ for Swing Dance Nights for as long as he could remember.

 

Castiel must be getting pretty good then.

 

For just a moment, Dean allowed himself to imagine dancing with Castiel himself. There would be the tug-and-pull as they tried to figure out which of them would lead. And they would be a team again, moving as one unit.

 

“Dean?” Jo asked from his side, and his brain kicked into gear again.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Does Cas know that you wish you’d brought him as a date?”

 

“Woah, woah, where’d you get that?” Dean tried, spinning Jo out and then swinging her back in.

 

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean,” Jo said, “You can’t pull that kind of bullshit on me.”

 

“Well, it was worth a try,” he admitted, “And no, he doesn’t know. We’ve had a lot of shit to deal with these past couple weeks.”

 

“You gonna tell him tonight?” Jo asked, “And is he good enough for you?”

 

“I don’t know,” Dean said, to both.

 

It was true that, as an angel, Castiel should technically be way out of his league, but he also might end up helping start the apocalypse so Dean thought he had earned his reservations about any romance between them.

 

Soon enough, Bill and Ellen declared the novices good enough, and put on the classic “Sing, Sing, Sing” as a good opener and invited everyone onto the floor.  

 

Dean and Jo took to the floor easily, and while they were still kickass at swing, his focus kept wandering as he looked for Castiel and Gwen, trying to make sure he hadn’t screwed up by bringing him here tonight. He was so out of it that he tripped over his own feet while swinging Jo in. Because God had left his throne, Sam and Jess happened to be spinning past them at that exact moment.

 

“Yeah, you’ll be bringing the pain later,” Sam taunted.

 

“You just focus on your own giant paws, Sasquatch,” he grumbled back.

 

After two songs, Jo pushed him away, and pointed to Castiel who was no longer dancing but sitting on one of the barstools just outside the dance floor.

 

“Just go ask him to dance already,” she said.

 

“I don’t wanna leave you by yourself,” Dean protested feebly.

 

“I’m a grown-ass woman, Dean,” Jo said, “I’ll be just fine. So man up and ask him to dance.”

 

She pushed him in Castiel’s direction. His stomach fluttered, but somehow it was very safe for him to find himself walking over to Castiel and standing just in front of him.

 

“You can’t just sit out here by yourself,” he told Cas.

 

“I like watching,” Castiel said, “I didn’t imagine hunters would have these kinds of skills.”

 

“A lot don’t,” he admitted, “Come on, you can dance with me for a song or two.”

Dean had imagined dancing with Castiel earlier but his predictions hadn’t been all that accurate. Castiel was a _good_ dancer, especially for someone who’d only just learned the East Coast Swing that evening. Dean had let Castiel take the lead, as the male part was the only side Castiel knew, whereas Dean had danced both with various people at the Roadhouse. It was a shame Castiel didn’t know any of the flips or aerials. With his angelic strength, he probably would’ve been able to do any of them easily.

 

But Cas seemed to have other ideas.

 

“You’re much better at this than I am,” he admitted as “Let’s Misbehave” came on.

 

“No, no,” Dean said, “You’re doing really well, especially for someone who just learned tonight,” honestly, he was getting tired of all Castiel’s sudden melancholy, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Cas ground out, “I’m just having trouble forgetting about what we’re supposed to be doing right now.”

 

“That’s the whole point of tonight,” Dean said, “We gotta take a break or we’ll drive ourselves crazy. Come on, just let loose.”

 

And then Castiel did, and it was one of the best dances of Dean’s life. They were out of breath from laughing and spinning by the time it ended. Well, Dean was out of breath. It didn’t seem possible for Castiel to be.

 

Ellen picked up the microphone again.

 

“Alright folks, I think it’s time for us to start our high speed round. Any couples wanting to participate just line up along the wall behind me. Beginners, I would not recommend this one to you.”

Jo was beckoning Dean eagerly so that they could get a good spot in the line.

 

“You ready to watch me and Jo beat Sam and Jess?”

 

Castiel was already moving back to his old seat, but he gave Dean a smile when he sat down.

 

“Once again,” Ellen said, “I have to emphasize that this is _not_ a competition.”

Again, her eyes found the Winchesters. Sam and Jess, naturally, had taken the spot just behind Dean and Jo. Sam and Dean looked at each other and then shrugged dramatically.

 

“Play nice, kids,” Ellen said, “But kick ass.”

 

The music swelled and picked up tempo. Benny Lafitte and his wife Andrea were the first out on the floor and the Winchesters whistled and cheered as he whirled her around. They replaced the rock step with kicks and Dean watched with admiration as Benny easily swung Andrea over his shoulder.

 

He spotted Castiel watching from the other side of the bar, eyes wide. He couldn’t help wondering if it was because he recognized Benny as a vampire or because of how well he was dancing.

 

After that it was Victor and Nancy who took to the floor, spinning at high speeds, but not attempting any of the flips or dips or aerials. Their speed and fancy footwork were impressive though.

 

Tamara and Isaac took to the floor after them, then Garth and his girlfriend, then Ash with Gwen. Finally, Sam and Jess took a moment to count and bounce and get the rhythm, then kicked out with a flourish onto the floor. With his (ridiculous) height, Sam and Jess completed several aerials, Jess’ golden ponytail flying and shimmering. The hunters that were crowded around roared in applause when she flipped backwards over his back and landed on her feet, secure in her little red sneakers.

 

Dean and Jo were last in line, though, and they didn’t hold back, flying around the dance floor. They did an aerial that landed Jo in a perfect split, and flipped and spun, and had the crowd cheering just as loud for them. They finished with a final aerial, then kicked their way off the floor as the music started to finish.

 

“Truce,” Sam said with one of his big dimpled grins. Jess was similarly grinning beside him.

 

Dean rested his chin on his fist and exchanged a look with Jo. She shrugged, so he sighed.

 

“Sure, I guess,” and he shook Sam’s hand, but he was already beginning to seek Cas out with his eyes.

 

“Give it up for _all_ the couples tonight,” Ellen said, and they all applauded, “We’ve got time for one more song. We’re gonna do one more slow one so all of you can catch your breath. Feel free to just sway for this one. No swing police here.”

 

“You better go ask Cas to dance,” Jo told him.

 

“Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye” began, and Dean looked over to see that Cas was still sitting alone with a beer in one hand. He wasn’t scowling, but Dean didn’t think that he was having the time of his life either, and this little adventure was supposed to be all about Castiel having fun.

 

“C’mon, it’s the last song!” Dean said, pulling him to his feet and back onto the dance floor.

 

“I enjoyed watching you and Jo and the others dancing more,” he said, and then lowered his voice to what he must have thought passed as a whisper, “I’m not very good.”

 

“You can’t fool me with that anymore, Cas. And anyway, the slow songs are easy. And Ellen  said we could just sway. C’mon, you can dance with me.”

 

The lights were dim, and Dean decided to keep he and Cas on the edge of the dance floor so they didn’t have to worry about pressing through the crowd. Castiel was stiff and tentative as he put his hands on Dean’s waist.  

 

Whether or not Cas liked it, Dean did like having him so close, their shoes brushing against each other, arms around each other in what was almost a hug. It was probably as close to embracing as Dean would ever get with Cas and he was grateful for it.

 

Castiel was tentative though, and Dean remembered Castiel smiting a demon with a single touch. He’d brought a soldier to a dim, crowded room. He’d brought a _soldier_ to a dance.

 

“So it was a stupid idea bringing you here, huh?”

 

“No,” Castiel said immediately, “No, I’ve been enjoying it.”

 

“You don’t have to lie.”

  
“I’m not.”

 

And Cas looked him in the eye, lips curving up just a little in a smile. Dean found that he couldn’t breathe for a moment, then Castiel’s eyes slipped away, somewhere over Dean’s shoulder.

 

“That looks comfortable,” he observed; Dean followed his gaze.

 

Jess was leaning her head against Sam’s chest, arms stretched up to wind around Sam’s neck.

 

“Lovebirds,” Dean scoffed, but knew that Castiel could hear the lump in his throat.

 

When he returned his attention to Castiel, he found that Cas had been watching him, eyes over-bright.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Earthy time is so brief. I had not…” Castiel shook his head.

 

Dean pulled away, just a little, so that he could get a better look at his friend’s face.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

Csatiel blinked, then his face shifted into a battle-ready determination. He leaned forward just enough to rest his head on Dean’s shoulder. His head was heavy, his dark hair tickling at Dean’s collar. Dean’s heart was beating fast, and Castiel must’ve felt it because he rushed his hands lightly over Dean’s shoulders and down to his elbows before lacing his fingers behind Dean’s neck again.

 

“Calm down,” he said, “Is this okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean, breathed more easily, “Just wasn’t expecting it is all.”

 

The closeness was more than Dean could’ve hoped for. The song came to a close too soon, and Castiel pushed him away quickly, dropping his hands by his sides.

 

“It’s getting late. We should return Sam and Jess to their home and then return to Bobby’s.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean admitted, though he wouldn’t have minded lingering, “Are you okay?”

 

Castiel was slouched over, eyes downcast.

 

“No,” he said, “We have six days, Dean.”

 

Sam and Jess were talking with Benny and Andrea on the other side of the Roadhouse, and Castiel did not follow Dean when he went over to them. Dean risked once glance back to see him standing by the door.

 

He led Sam and Jess away as quickly as he could, though he would’ve liked to have stayed and spoken with Benny more.

 

Too soon, he and Cas were dropping Sam and Jess off at their apartment again. This time Castiel could meet Sam’s eye and shake his hand without any hesitation. Jess gave Dean a hug, and then he and Cas returned again to Bobby’s.

 

The junkyard was quiet, and the summer night air was cool and sweet. It wasn’t romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but the moonlight played gently over the planes of Castiel’s face, and Dean couldn’t look away.

 

“I hope that wasn’t too terrible for you,” Dean said, “Even with all the shit going on.”

 

Castiel’s face softened, “It wasn’t. Thank you. It was a good idea.”

 

With all the insistence on rushing today, Dean had fully expected Cas to hurry them indoors, but he was making no sign to do so, just took a step closer to Dean.

 

“I guess we should—”

 

But Cas cut off the rest of that sentence, swooping in and landing a very light kiss on his lips. He stayed close after, so their faces were only inches apart.

 

“Wow,” Dean said, leaning back a little, “I didn’t know you knew how to do that, or that angels were allowed to do that.”

 

“I had to try,” Cas said, “There isn’t much time, but I had to try.”

 

Dean blinked, then reached up to tug at the collar of Castiel’s button-down shirt, “You up for tryin’ again?”

 

Castiel stretched up to kiss him again, longer.

 

Dean had kissed many people, and it was so familiar to be surrounded by the quiet and cool of the summer evening except for the warmth they were passing between them. But he had never kissed an angel before; Castiel was different, sharper, cooler, and slower.

 

Castiel pressed into another kiss, and Dean’s toes curled in his shoes at the single-minded focus behind it. His hands went up to cup the sides of Castiel’s face, but when he found dampness there, he pulled away immediately.

 

Sure enough, there were tear marks streaked down Castiel’s face.

 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he wiped at the marks with his thumbs.

 

“We can’t keep doing this,” Castiel told him, pulling back out of Dean’s touch, “My vessel is married. I can’t do this to him.”

“Woah, he’s aware in there?”

 

“I kept him unaware for those kisses, but any more, and well, he would consider it infidelity. We should go inside.”

 

“There’s a finite number of kisses before a vessel will feel them?” Dean asked; Cas turned away, “If there’s something else, though, besides the end of the world, you can tell me. You know that, right?”

 

Cas huffed a breath, “Yes, I know. Let’s go inside. We have long days ahead of us.”

 

Castiel strode towards Bobby’s, but Dean lingered in the junkyard and watched him go, pressing his fingertips to his lips where Cas had kissed him.

 

The wind in the junkyard suddenly picked up and Cas froze. Dean jumped when he saw another man suddenly at Castiel’s side. It was an old, fat, balding white guy…well, probably not a man at all.

 

“Castiel,” he spat, “Where have you—“

 

And then he saw Dean and _grinned_.

 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Righteous Man,” The hair raised on the back of Dean’s neck as he realized that this angel was talking about _him_ , “A job well done, Castiel. You’ve made my work so much easier.”

 

“Cas?” Dean said, warily, and then Castiel went very pale.

 

“Dean, get out of here!”

 

Dean turned to run but then Zachariah was right in front of him, pressing two fingers to his forehead. All went dark.

 

*

 

 When Dean awoke, it was not the slow regaining of consciousness, but instantaneous. He was in some rich person’s room. The walls were gold, there were fancy paintings in ornate frames, and a chandelier dangled from the ceiling. Dean was seated in some fancy wingback chair. Beside him stood that white guy that had brought him there in the first place.  

 

“Hello, Dean,” he said.

 

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asked, starting to get up from the chair, but finding that he could not.

 

“Castiel? I don’t know why you care, considering what he’s done to you.”

 

Dean was too smart for that kind of bullshit, though.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“He’s being dealt with appropriately. I had thought that he wanted to do the right thing, seeing as he found you, but it turns out that he still has some misconceptions.”

 

His blood ran cold.

 

“What are you doing to him, you dick?”

 

“My name is Zachariah, and you should show me respect, _boy_ ,” he spat, leaning in close; his breath was rancid, “Your and your brother’s fate rest in my hands.”

 

That was enough to get his attention.

 

“What about Sam?”

 

“You and he are important, Dean,” Zachariah said, straightening back to his not-very-impressive height, “Didn’t Castiel tell you?”

 

Dean said nothing, jaw gritted tight. Castiel wouldn’t have kept anything important from him, would he?

 

“You and your brother are important, Dean, to all of heaven. You and he are a part of the grand plan.”

 

“No,” Dean said, “No, you can’t be saying that Sam and I are part of the plan to end the world. We won’t help you.”

 

“I’m afraid you won’t have much of a choice in the matter,” Zachariah said, “I’m just glad that Castiel found you.”

 

“Bring Castiel in here,” Dean said, jaw still tight, “I want to talk to him. _Please_.”

 

“Very well,” Zachariah sighed, and fluttered out of sight.

 

He returned moments later; Castiel was sagging between two more angels in suits. There was blood on his face.

 

“Dean,” he said softly, just once, and the angel on his left struck him. Dean clutched at the arms of the chair, knuckles white.

 

“Now, now, Castiel,” Zachariah said, “I think it’s my turn to talk, you just listen up. Why do you think Castiel went to _you_ that night when the two of you met? The amulet was a lucky coincidence. He was going to find _you,_ the Righteous Man.”

 

“Dean, I _swear_ —”

 

That buff angel to Castiel’s right punched him in the stomach again and he shut up, gasping. Dean finally looked Zachariah in the eye, straining against his invisible bonds.

 

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but Cas doesn’t deserve this. He was just doing what you told him to.”

 

“Castiel has never done exactly what he’s been told,” Zachariah said, “He’s never rebelled, but he always _questions_. This is long overdue for him, trust me.”

 

Dean wasn’t sure if Cas had been planning to tell him anything, but the thought of these dicks hurting Castiel was unbearable.

 

“No, no, just let him go,” Dean said, “He gave you what you wanted. Let him _go,”_ he struggled uselessly against the invisible bonds holding him in the chair.

 

Zachariah tilted his head to one side.

 

Dean found suddenly that his hands were free, he found his knife easily and slit a small cut over his forearm. Under his breath he began a quiet spell for freedom. The bonds fell away. Dean dabbed at the blood still leaking out of his arm and drew a curving Sumerian symbol in the deep red.

 

“Why, Castiel, I didn’t think you’d sink _this_ low. You became friends with this _,_ this mud-monkey?”

 

“He is better than you will ever be,” Castiel said.

 

Zachariah’s lip began to curl up in a snarl. He raised a hand, and Castiel looked serenely on, but Dean was free and he stood too.

 

“Let him go, or I’ll disappear again,” Dean said, and the angels turned to see him. Dean held one hand hovering over the symbol he had made from his own blood, “I am a Man of Letters. You angels may be new to us, but we will not be defeated easily,” he had their full attention now, “But if you let him go…if you let him go, I’ll go with you.”

 

The room was too tense for movement, but finally Zachariah nodded, stepping away.

 

“Very well. Let him go,” Zachariah said, and Castiel fell to his knees, “Come, Dean.”

 

“No,” Dean said, “I want a minute to talk to him. Alone. Just one minute.”

 

Zachariah’s face was turning red, so Dean put his hand closer still to the bloody symbol on his arm, “I will disappear right now,” he threatened.

 

“No need, Dean. You have one minute, starting now.”

 

He and the two mook angels disappeared, and Dean ran to help Castiel to his feet.

 

“Hey, hey, you okay? What did they do to you?”

 

“Nothing permanent,” Castiel said,  “Dean, why would you—”

 

“I think it’s my turn to ask the questions, Cas,” Dean interrupted, “What do they need Sam and me for with the apocalypse?”

 

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, “I only know that you both are needed. You are the Righteous Man, and Sam…I don’t believe Sam is supposed to be on the side of heaven. I had long passed my deadline for finding God, and I thought I might be able to redeem myself some other way.”

 

“So by the time you found me, you weren’t looking for God anymore,” Dean backed up, hands searching for some kind of support, something to hold onto. He now also understood why it was that Castiel had looked so stricken and guilty the night that he had introduced him to Sam. It was because Sam too had a part to play, and not a good one.

 

“No, I wasn’t. I was looking for you, because I knew your role, knew that you were The Righteous Man that prophets have written of. But then I saw your amulet and I wanted so badly to believe,” Castiel reached out, “I never wanted the apocalypse, but I was tired, and I thought that this would be the only way.”

 

“Dammit, Cas, why didn’t you tell me sooner? We could’ve worked on this together. We might’ve—” Dean lost all his words and finally found the wall, slumping back against it, as he let out all the air he’d been saving for anger. They didn’t have time to be angry, “How long do we have until Zachariah comes back, Cas?”

 

“Just a few moments. I’m so sor—”

 

“No, we don’t have time for that. Listen to me, Cas, you gotta find my brother. These dicks can have me, but they can’t have him, ok?”

 

“Dean—”

 

“Ok? C’mon, I’m counting on you.”

 

“Okay,” Castiel said breathlessly, “Okay, Dean.”

 

Dean couldn’t stand to see him like that, wide eyes and pleading hands, so he pressed a long kiss to Castiel’s lips. He could feel himself beginning to shake, and pushed Cas away.

 

“Go,” Dean said, “Get out of here now and get my brother somewhere safe.”

 

With a final flutter of wings, Cas was gone.

 

*

 

Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore’s street seemed too cheerful now, in the light of day when so much was at stake.

 

It was no simple matter, convincing Sam to run and hide when his brother was in danger, but Cas managed it somehow, eventually telling them that they could seek out family to help. He carved the necessary Enochian onto Sam (and Jessica’s, just in case) ribs so as to hide them. Before he’d met Dean, he never would have believed that he would be helping Lucifer’s vessel, but his world had reoriented itself with his time on earth.  

 

“Cas, you’re going to save Dean, right?” Sam asked him just as Cas was about to take them to meet with John and Mary Winchester for safe-keeping.

 

“I’ll do my best,” Castiel said, even though he knew such a thing was impossible, before transporting them to Kansas.

 

Then he found himself alone, again, standing in Sam and Jess’ tidy living room. The amulet in his pocket was heavy, and he hated it. He took it out of his pocket. The little golden face taunted him in the lamplight.

 

“I don’t understand,” he said to it, because God was not there to curse at, “Why would you let people like Dean and Sam suffer?”

 

A wind moved through the living room.

 

“Come on,” he dared, thinking of Dean and his shark like grin, “Be a man and show yourself.”

 

 _Castiel_ , the voice in his head was not thunderous, but soft, steady. _I have always been here. You know where to find me_.

 

And without warning, Castiel did know. He put the amulet back around his neck and he flew there, anger lending speed to his wings.

 

It was that damn twenty-four hour McDonalds that he and Dean had visited the first day. He walked in and looked around; the amulet grew warm. He looked to the counter where the same girl (nametag said Danielle) was working. The amulet grew hotter.

 

Castiel approached the counter.

 

“Danielle,” he said, “I believe we need to talk.”

 

Danielle smiled at him, and the next thing Castiel knew, they were in another living room. It was full of books and artwork and there were two cozy green couches.

 

“Have a seat, Castiel,” She instructed.

 

“Father?” Castiel said.

 

“I am both Father and Mother,” She said, “Sit down, Castiel. This conversation might take some time. I know that you have many questions.”

 

“Dean doesn’t have that much time,” Castiel protested, still standing.

 

She sat, though, and he finally followed suit. He had a million questions to ask, but now, looking at Her, he wasn’t sure if he should ask them, or how to ask them.

 

“Go ahead, Castiel,” She said with a smile, “Your anger does not surprise or disappoint me. Ask away.”

 

“You are not in the form that I was expecting,” Cas told her.

 

And it was true that a young woman, not the most objectively beautiful, was not the vessel he had imagined for God. But that was the problem with putting Her in a box. She never fit.

 

“I’ve already been a man,” she laughed and the sound was like rushing waters, “Many humans believe themselves to be me without my help, trust me. But you know My Word, Castiel. You know those whom I draw near to. Those living here, those working at that restaurant, they may not be kings or queens or prophets, but they have good hearts. That’s what I seek.”

 

Her candor made Castiel pause, because he knew now that he could ask the real questions.

 

“Why didn’t you make yourself known before now?” _Didn’t you care?_

 

“You know what is written, Castiel: seek and you shall find.”

 

“But I was _seeking_ you,” Castiel insisted, felt the weight of the amulet burning on his chest, “I’ve been seeking you for _months_.”

 

“You were at first,” She admitted, “There was a time when I was ready to reveal myself to you, because you sought me with such faith and zeal,” She smiled, “But then you found something else instead.”

 

“Dean and I were looking for _you_.”

 

“But you didn’t really want to find me anymore, did you?” She asked, not unkindly, “You didn’t want to leave him behind and return to heaven with me. Ever since you met him, your heart hasn’t really been in this search. You were curious at first, and then you just didn’t want your search to end. Not until now, of course, when you believe that his life depends on it.”

 

As much as Castiel wanted to deny it, She was speaking the truth, about all of it. He had found true companionship with Dean, learned what it meant to _feel_ and in the process, forgotten what his mission was all about, but She was dead wrong if She believed that he was going to feel sorry for loving Dean.  

  
“Yes,” Castiel said, “But will you still help me? I don’t think you want the apocalypse any more than I do.”

 

She sighed, pulling off her McDonald’s visor and scratching at her head.

 

“No, I don’t. And his life does depend on my return,” She told him, “The Righteous Man is responsible for breaking the first seal.”

  
Castiel froze, “A sacrifice?”

 

She shook her head, “Worse. He must be broken in hell. I never intended for any of you to follow through on such plans. I made them that horrible in the hopes that it would mean that none of you would consider starting the end without my help. I need no such formulas.”

 

“What about Sam?”

 

“He is intended as the vessel for Lucifer, once Zachariah and demons have worked to break the seals. Dean is intended as the vessel for Michael.”

 

Castiel could feel panic rising in him. Forcing the Winchester brothers to fight opposite one another? That was worse than he had imagined.

 

“How do you know what Zachariah has planned?”  
  
She smiled at him again, “Haven’t you heard the term omnipresent, Castiel? Do you have any more questions?

 

“What are we going to do?”

 

“I will return to Heaven and restore order; it will not take long. You will retrieve Dean from hell. He has been there for a day, and has not broken. It will take them much longer than they thought to break him, but we will not afford them that opportunity. Then you will bring Dean to me. I would like to meet him. Then he will return with a few of your feathers to complete his task.”

 

She spoke gently, and Castiel suddenly realized that he had left God’s grand plan by leaving theatsearch to find Dean instead, that he had put Dean before Her.

 

“I’m sorry,” he wished he had a word to address Her by, but he didn’t know which one to choose, “I realize now that I should have kept looking for you, rather than go off on my own. I strayed from your path,” the weight of it was crushing, “I rebelled…like Lucifer.”

 

“No,” She leaned forward and put a hand on his cheek, “No, Zachariah rebelled, chose to kill my creation instead of protecting it, as did those who followed him. You chose to seek me,” She smiled, “And then you chose love. I am love. That is not rebellion.”

 

She straightened and stood, and Castiel was grateful. Any more of Her words and he may have wept on Her couch.

 

“Are you ready, Castiel?”

*

 

To Castiel’s disappointment, he was not able to return to heaven and see Zachariah’s face as She ascended to Her throne, but he was glad to be sent straight to hell because he knew that Dean should not be kept there a moment longer.

 

He had long grown accustomed to the varied flickering light of earth, inconsistent and wondrous, so the invasive red shine of hell was doubly terrible.

 

He flew fast through the long winding halls, and his friend was nowhere to be seen. Finally, knowing that there was no other place that the demons could have hidden him, Castiel descended down, down into the Pit. As he came over the edge, he could spy the blue-white glow of Dean’s soul flickering in the new sickly green light. Dean’s soul was steaming, vapors rising from it as Cas heard him scream.

 

 _Father, no_ , Castiel prayed, knowing that there was only one demon in the Pit that could make a soul scream in such torment.

 

Sure enough, there was Alistair, forked tongue spitting out from his gaping maw. His form was gleaming silver, tall and slender like a knife. He growled as Castiel approached him.

 

“You have no place here, angel,” he hissed, his bony, clawed hands clenched tight around Dean’s arm. Dean’s soul burned brighter for a moment, expanding, then shrunk in on itself.

 

“It is the Righteous Man that has no place here,” Castiel told him, taking out his blade, and unfurling his wings to their full span, “I have come to raise him.”

 

Dean was staring up. He showed no sign that he was hearing Castiel.

 

The corners of Alistair’s mouth twisted upward, revealing long, jagged teeth. He tilted his head to the side and Castiel would have thought Alistair was examining him  more carefully, if Alistair’s form had had eyes. As a creature that lived in eternal dark, he had no need for them.

 

“All alone, little angel?” he said, “Your kind gave me the Righteous Man, asked for my help. I’m doing heaven a favor.”

 

“Let him go,” Castiel commanded, raising his blade, “Or I will not hesitate to smite you.”

 

Alistair took a step away from his instruments and reared back, “Do your worst.”

 

Then he swung out with his claws, Castiel side-stepped, and managed to get a slice with his blade. The wound glowed blue-white and Alistair screeched, wheeling around to make another pass at him. Castiel had no desire to draw the fighting out, so he threw out one of his arms to stop Alistair in his tracks, and while Alistair was gnawing and scratching at his arm, he reached around with his other hand to drive his blade through Alistair’s back.

 

Alistair struggled harder, jerking and screeching around the blade,  as he was lit up from the inside. Castiel withdrew his sword, and Alistair fell.

 

Castiel cleaned off his blade and stepped over to the table that Dean was bound to.

 

“No, no, no,” Dean was muttering as Castiel leant over him, “I'm never saying yes, you son of a bitch.”

 

“Dean,” Castiel said, and Dean’s eyes peeled open, glassy. He blinked once, and then closed his eyes again, turning his face away.

 

“Doesn’t matter what fuckin’ face you take,” he said, “No, no, _no_.”

 

Castiel considered. Dean was a human, and thus, even here, Castiel believed that he would find more comfort in Castiel’s appearance in a vessel. But now it was obvious Alistair must have used their connection, taken his vessel’s appearance. Wrath burned through him at the thought.

 

“We’re leaving,” he announced and then gripped Dean’s soul tight (Dean would have felt it in what he believed was his arm) and began the ascent. Dean was limp in his hold, and Castiel beat at the air faster. Dean would be fine, and Castiel could not bear to see Dean there any longer.

 

Dean turned away weakly as the glow of heaven began to overtake hell. Castiel peered at his soul. The tears and gashes were healing nicely, though they would leave scars that had no true physical manifestation.

 

As they ascended, Dean finally looked straight at him, “Cas?” he was healing quickly, but his voice was hoarse, “You came back for me?”

 

“Of course I did,” he said, “But I did have some help.”

 

In the distance, Castiel could see the towering open gates, and beyond, the green hills of heaven.

“I found Her Dean,” Castiel said.

 

“Her?”

 

“God took female form this time,” Castiel explained, “She wants to speak with you before you return home.”

 

They were standing at the gates now. Well, Castiel was standing, and Dean was leaning on him entirely.

 

“Sam?” Dean rasped.

 

“Safe. And so are you. No apocalypse. She and I canceled all that.”

 

He picked Dean up again and took off for the throne. It was not far from the gates, and he saw Dean’s jaw tighten as they approached the throne. He was not at all surprised when Dean rallied before it, gaining back all the color he had lost and standing steady on his feet.

 

“Where were you?” were his first words, and Castiel cringed, but She smiled.

 

“Right under your noses. I was with my creation this whole time. I wanted to thank you for your help, Dean.” She said, “If it wasn’t for you, Castiel may have decided that Zachariah’s plan was the best one after all.”

 

 “What if I hadn’t been there?” Dean asked, “What about all the poor humans who would’ve died then, huh?”

“You _were_ there, Dean,” She said, “All was exactly as it should have been.”

  
“So, what was Zachariah’s plan, exactly?”

 

“In your family’s bloodline runs the ability to house my archangels, Michael and Lucifer,” She explained patiently, “Zachariah intended that you become the vessel for Michael, and your brother, Lucifer so that the angels may have Armageddon begin on earth.”

 

“They were gonna put me and Sam against each other?” Dean asked, and Castiel reached out. It was odd, after so long on earth, to reach out and touch Dean’s very soul in comfort, instead of a shoulder.

 

“They could not find Sam,” he assured Dean, “He is safe.”

 

“He is worried about you,” She said, “You should return home. He is not the only one concerned for you. He told your parents as well.”

 

 “What about Cas?” Dean asked Her; Castiel attempted to interrupt, but Dean would have none of it, “What will you do with him?”

“Castiel is free to make his own choices,” She said, “But I was hoping that he would remain here and help me reorder heaven. It seems that things have gotten out of hand since I was last here.”

 

“If he has to stay here, give him a promotion,” Dean suggested, “He’d be better than that dick Zachariah ever was.”

 

“ _Dean—”_

“He has a point, Castiel,” She agreed, and smiled, “Very well, Dean Winchester, I will take that into consideration. For now, though, Castiel must return you home. There is much life left that you haven’t lived.”

 

Too soon, Castiel was returning Dean to his body, still in that damn fancy room that Zachariah had brought them to. Quickly, he took them from that place and back to Dean’s old apartment. The windows were still covered in tarp.

 

“Here,” Castiel said, holding out a few feathers, “I believe that you have need of these.”

 

“So I guess this it, huh,” Dean said, taking them carefully, “You head back upstairs. I turn these in.”

 

Castiel had never before had to say a final goodbye before, and he didn’t want to now.

 

“Dean.”

 

“Will you be able to visit, at least?”

 

“No,” Castiel said, and when Dean’s face fell, he wished that he had been able to soften the blow, but there was no way to, really, “Goodbye, Dean.”

 

He flew off before Dean could do something like kiss him.

 

*

 

_So it all worked out in the end, right? Castiel and I (and God, technically) stopped the apocalypse. The Dicks like Zachariah got put in their place. I even got the angel feathers you asked for!_

 

_And I was miserable._

_Thanks for your time._

_-Dean Winchester_

_*_

The days passed slowly for Dean. He had five of them to kill while he waited with feathers in hand in his little apartment. The first thing he’d done was to call Sam. His brother had immediately put him on speakerphone so he could be questioned and reassured and lectured by his entire family, who, it turned out, wasn’t so big on the whole sacrificing himself thing. They asked about Castiel, and then came the worst part. He had to tell them that Castiel was gone.

 

He’d called Bobby next to let him know that he’d actually gotten those feathers, and to reassure him that everything was all hunky-dory. He asked after Castiel too. It wasn’t any easier the second time to say that he was gone.  Then he scrubbed his apartment from top to bottom to avoid moping.

 

His apartment was too empty, the silences too long. Castiel had never been chatty, but he had enjoyed conversation. Dean tried turning the TV on, but all he could think of was how confused Castiel would have been by certain jokes, or laughed at others.

 

It didn’t help that he was still exhausted from his ordeal. He had been healed from hell, though he still woke up sweating from dreams of it. The non-stop searching and persuading had made for a mental exhaustion that made it hard for him to get out of bed. The worst of it was that there was no real reason to get up at all. Charlie was still out, and his family was far from him. He’d grown so accustomed to having Castiel beside him that now his solitude seemed unnatural and unbearable.

 

Finally, though, the Day came for him to get up at the dawn and put on his suit again.

 

After doing fieldwork, it was strange to return to headquarters. It was too calm and familiar after day after day of new things to see. He got to the room right on time, and somehow the grandeur of the hall was not nearly so impressive.

 

“Mr. Winchester,” said Josie as he entered, “Have you brought the feathers we asked for?”  
  
He had believed that it would be satisfying to watch the Elders’ confusion when he handed over the feathers, but, honestly, he didn’t really want to give them up anymore. Still, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to surprise them.

 

He pulled the shimmering dark feathers out of his jacket pocket and walked far enough forward to place them on the table.

 

“These were given to me by the angel Castiel,” he said, “In exchange, I helped him with a mission from heaven.”

 

Okay, so it was really satisfying to watch the Elders’ jaws drop. Josie, though, was unsurprised.

 

“Well done,” she said, then her tone turned acidic, “Unlike my fellow Elders, I had complete faith in you.”

“In our defense,” Ganem said, “Sands was the only one of us who really believed in angels before this assignment.”

 

“I knew that angels were real, yes,” Sands said, “But more importantly, I knew that heaven had a vested interest in the Winchesters.”

 

Dean was shaking, “You knew about the _apocalypse!_ You knew what they wanted to do to me, to _Sam_ and—”

 

“No,” Sands said shortly, “I had no specifics. I had only the vaguest information and that was just left over from Abaddon.”

 

Dean reeled backward. It seemed insane that this whole ordeal was fueled by an attempted attack on the Men of Letters decades earlier. “You don’t mean the demon that—”

 

Sands’ scar caught the light as she nodded.

 

“Yes, the same. I knew that children that came from a Winchester and Campbell union would be important. Your dad married before I’d even known that they’d met.”

“So you used me to get more information on the plans of heaven?” Dean said, “Well, I’ve got some great news for you. They wanted me to start the apocalypse, and the only way to do that was to throw me in _hell_.”

 

“Dean, I swear I had no idea,” all formality was lost now.

 

He couldn’t stay mad at them. In her position, it had seemed the wisest course of action. She, like Sam, had probably believed that angels could only have the best in the mind.

 

“I believe you, just don’t do it again,” he said; he saw that they had leaned forward over the table, jaws still gaping. They were waiting for a story, but they were going to be disappointed.

 

“I'm not telling you here, not now. I’m too damn tired. May I write up a report instead?”

 

“Yes, yes of course,” Josie said, “Now onto what you are to do next.”

 

Dean learned that he was going to be moving.

 

Apparently there was a secret bunker in Kansas that the Men of Letters used as their base of operations for more “hands-on” work. Dean had been offered a position there to work with hunters on the most bizarre of cases.

 

“Miss Charlie Bradbury is going to be given the same offer,” Ganem told him, “Should Sam choose to become a Man of Letters himself, he will be offered the same position. In a few years, the two of you could be working there together.”

 

“You’ll even be able to continue teaching in a local elementary school, if that’s what you want,” Elder Sands told him.

 

It was everything he’d ever wanted, and somehow it was now the last thing he wanted.

 

He smiled and thanked them anyway. Once he was finally able to stop moping, he knew he’d be able to realize what a job he’d been given.  

 

And Charlie was making out with some hot fairy chick in front of the Elders’ chambers when he came out. Dean sighed. Watching a happy couple was the last thing he wanted today. They came apart for air just as he passed them.

 

“Dean,” Charlie grinned, “Did you get a picture of the looks on the Elders’ faces?”

 

“Nah, you know me, Charlie,” he pulled his face into a grin, “I don’t gloat.”

 

Charlie laughed, and the fairy smiled, clearly confused, but not bothering to ask about the punch line. Much like Castiel would have. Dean shook himself a little, trying to pay better attention to his friend.

 

“Look, we’ve got great news,” Charlie said, then looked pointedly at the fairy.

 

“The court has said that I am allowed to remain here on the mortal world with Charlie.”

 

“Gilda gets to stay here with me so we can make out some more,” Charlie paraphrased.

 

Dean tried to imagine the same for a moment. God on His (or rather, Her) throne commanding Castiel to return to him so that they could make out and move in together and meet Dean’s parents and dammit he had to stop thinking this way.

 

“That’s great, Charlie,” he told her, “Congratulations.”

 

That night while he was eating his feelings in ice cream, he paused Star Trek for a moment when an idea came to him. He got to his knees and folded his hands.

 

“Dear Castiel,” he began, “This is probably really stupid, but if you can hear me, I just wanted to say that…thanks for helping me and Sam and that I hope that everything is alright in Heaven now. Ah, screw it. Come back Cas. I miss you.”

 

There was no response, no stirring of wind, no buzzing, no light, but Dean felt better for having said the prayer, all the same.

 

The days passed with horrible boredom. He packed up his apartment and was grateful he wouldn’t have to do any apartment hunting in Kansas, as he would be given boarding at the bunker. He and Charlie started meeting up to discuss their future and the upcoming formal initiation ceremony at the end of the summer. Gilda tagged along often too. Her presence was a constant reminder of how things were both perfect and a complete disaster.  

 

Sam called more often, and it took a few days before Dean began to hear the strain of worry leave his voice. One night, Sam finally brought Castiel up, as Dean was trying to make a sandwich with his phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder.

 

“Where the hell is Castiel?” Sam asked, and Dean let the knife in his fingers clatter onto the counter because seriously that had come out of nowhere.

 

“What do you mean? He went home,” Dean said, forcing his voice to be gruff as he pulled the knife out, “I don’t think angels are meant to stay on earth long-term.”

 

“Well, you two liked each other, right?” Sam said.

 

“Of course we did,” Dean said, “We traveled together day in and day out. If we hadn’t liked each other, we might have killed each other.”

 

“No,” Sam sighed, “I can’t believe I’m about to say this. I mean that you two _liked_ each other.”  
  
“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” Dean said.

 

“Dean, I’ve known you your whole life. You really think I wouldn’t be able to tell if you love someone.”  
  
“Woah, woah, woah,” Dean screwed the cap back on his peanut butter, “When did we jump to love.”

 

“Well, I don’t think you would have forgiven _anyone_ for trying to start he apocalypse unless you were pretty fond of them,” Sam explained, “And Castiel…he never looked at anyone the way he looked at you.”

 

“…really?”

 

“He dove into _hell_ to save you, Dean,” Sam said, “He rebelled against heaven after he found you. He should’ve turned you in immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to give you over to Zachariah and the other angels. So I just want to know why he didn’t stick around?”

 

“He was given a promotion in heaven,” Dean said, trying to convince Sam to move on, “He’s got a pretty important job now.”

  
“You didn’t tell him that you wanted him to stay?” Sam suggested, “Maybe if you told him, he would come back.”

 

“No, I told him.” Dean didn’t want to remember his useless prayer, “He’s just got better things to do than come fool around with me.”

 

“Dean—”

“What about you and Jess? How are you two doing?” Dean interrupted.

 

And Sam knew him well enough to leave well enough alone after that.

 

As much as it was a relief to finally talk to someone about Castiel, it had ached to remember him, and ached more to remember that he wasn’t there, that he wouldn’t ever be there. Dean threw away his half-eaten sandwich and left the dirty plate in the sink to clean up in the morning when he wasn’t so tired.

 

The next morning, Dean wandered out of bed to find Castiel sitting on one of his couches in the living room.

 

“Hello, Dean,” he said.

 

And Dean didn’t think before he kissed him. He’d intended it to be a brief, chaste “hello” kiss, but Castiel pulled him down deeper. Evidently Castiel didn’t need to breathe.

 

“Wait, wait,” Dean said finally, out of breath and confused, “What about your vessel? What about heaven.”

 

Castiel huffed, clearly convinced they’d be spending their time better if they were kissing again, “He is safe at home with his wife and daughter. I was granted a body of my own.”

 

“So he now has an angelic twin,” Dean said.

 

Castiel smiled, “Sure,” but he was leaning again, so Dean thought Cas was just humoring him so they could get back to kissing.

 

“Heaven, Cas?” Dean tried again; he had to know if Castiel was even planning to stay. “What are you doing here?”

 

“God has given me permission to reside here with you.”

Dean grinned and surged forward and kissed him. It was a long time later before Dean finally broke away. He couldn’t stop smiling. He had grinned so much in the past half hour that his cheeks hurt.

 

He looked around and saw all the boxes. It figured that Castiel had come to make a home with him just as Dean was leaving his. He laced his fingers with Castiel’s though, and grinned wider.

 

“How do you feel about Kansas, Cas?”

 

 

 

 

 

             * **Fin***


End file.
